


Reclamation

by Mirinda



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bodice-Ripper, Controversial subject matter, Dark Thranduil, Doctor Thranduil, Drama & Romance, Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Hot Sex, Id Fic, Loss of Control, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magic Fingers, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, My First Fanfic, Non consensual orgasm, Non-Consensual Spanking, Not for the faint of heart., Not for the squeamish, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pie, Rape, Rough Sex, Sexual Helaing, Sexual Punishment, Shameless, Thranduil OBGYN, Thranduil Porn, Thranduil is a wild and dangerous., Violence, Who's your daddy?, not sorry, please heed the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-11 08:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 59
Words: 90,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3321032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirinda/pseuds/Mirinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elorean is an elf from a long line of healers. Her Grandmother tended to King Oropher, Thranduil’s Father. Elorean understands that the new threats her people face call for new solutions in medicine. Growing up alongside a brother whose sole goal was to be a great fighter, Elorean is also well skilled with a sword a bow.  She will need to draw on both her skills as a healer and a fighter as her people follow their King into battle. Elorean is not prepared for what transpires as she crosses boundaries and finds herself face to face with the King. Etiquette and diplomacy are attributes that Elorean often neglects when her inquisitiveness and ambition kick in. She is determined to do that which she knows is right whatever the cost. The King is not one to be crossed and beneath his armor are many secrets and wounds he has kept concealed for centuries. But this young elf healer keeps getting under his skin and that could prove to be very dangerous for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All the King's Men

Elorean’s foot sank into the soft floor of the forest. She looked down at the inky black substance pooling around the toe of her boot. A chill swept through her bringing with it growing sense of unease. The defeat of the dragon Smaug had brought a sense of celebration among her people but something dark still brewed and the trees surrounding her knew it. 

Elorean clenched a bag of medicinal herbs close under one arm and placed her dominant hand on her sword in the ready position. She was not accustomed to being afraid. Increasing her pace, she moved swiftly through the maze of branches and brush. 

Skillfully scaling the wall, Elorean snuck back into the safety of her village. It was forbidden to leave the walls of Mirkwood without permission and an armed escort, but the King had summoned his army and it was obvious, Thranduil was preparing for battle. The herbs would be needed if, indeed, war was at hand. 

Turning her eyes towards the sky, Elorean whispered an entreaty that Thranduil’s strategy was simply to make a show of force and the extra herbs she had been gathering would be dried and stored in the medical coffers for another day. 

Grateful she had not been missed, Elorean merged into the gathering of assembled elves. The excitement in the air was palpable. Wagons were being loaded with food, wine and medical supplies. The matriarch of the healers, Gwinethiel, spotted Elorean and ordered her to attend to the wagon near the end of the line being stocked by two other healers. 

Elorean scrambled to comply, worried the black hooded smock and leggings she wore for her forest foraging would call into question her absence over the past few hours. Fortunately, the urgency of the work at hand left no room for curiosity. By the King’s orders, preparations were to be made with all do haste.

Working fast, yet methodically, Elorean and her two fellow healers loaded their supplies and moved ahead to assist in filling the last food wagon in the caravan. A startling hush and then complete silence began to flow down the line of elves at their various stations like a wave. The army was moving. 

Elorean watched as her brother, Landinir, passed with his company. Landinir was a captain in the guard. His skills in battle had earned him the favor of the King. The development of those skills had also afforded Elorean the training of a soldier. She spent many hours watching and learning from her brother and sparring with him as well. Her skills gave her the confidence to move beyond the safe boundaries of her home to venture into the woods alone, a hobby she indulged in often, without detection. 

Row after row of soldiers moved past them, deftly and silently, in perfect alignment. The rays of setting sun glinted off their gold helmets. The horns of a giant elk began to emerge in the distance. As the King moved closer into sight, Elorean saw that he was in full battle regalia. By the set of his finely sculpted jaw and the gleam in his piercing blue eyes, it was clear the King was ready to fight. His body remained rigid and motionless as his head turned to survey the wagons. If he was pleased or displeased, he did not show it. His expression appeared to be carved in stone. 

Thraduil’s eyes moved toward the healers and the wagon they stood by. With trepidation, Elorean remembered she was still out of uniform and unlike the elves around her, she was armed. Among her peers, dressed in their simple, full length gowns of deep green, she appeared woefully out of place. She had not even taken the time to braid her hair back and it fell in wisps about her face. 

Elorean was tall for an elf and her eyes were an oddity among the Sindar. They lacked the paleness of the brilliant, sky blue common to her kin. Her eyes were a deeper blue that at times took on an aqua cast. Her hair too was different, a deeper blond adorned with rich golden highlights. She was not easy to overlook, especially in her present state of disarray. 

The elves bowed their heads in deference to their King as he passed. With her head tilted to the ground, Elorean could see the giant hooves of Thranduil’s elk among the boots in the procession of soldiers. Keeping her position steady, she lifted her eyes to steal a glance at the magnificent beast. She watched its toned muscles flex underneath a shinning brown coat as it gracefully carried the Elvenking. 

Detecting a slight quiver in the elk’s flank, Elorean let her eyes travel upward. To her utter mortification, as it happened, this was the precise second Thranduil was scanning over her and their eyes met. It was an incredible breach of protocol given the gravity of the event they were embarking upon.

Elorean immediately averted her gaze away from the elk and the King. She stared intently at a pebble lying near the tip of her boot. Holding her breath she felt a warm flush of shame travel up her cheeks. She waited. It took her a few seconds to realize the King had passed without incident, without calling her out and she released a deep sigh of relief. 

Hands trembling, Elorean cursed herself for letting curiosity get the best of her again. As she reflected on how lucky she was the King had better things to do today then to take her to task for her lapse in etiquette, she could not help but wonder if she had seen a flash of inquisitiveness pass over Thranduil’s eyes when his gaze met hers. She could not be sure, however, if it was imagined or real.


	2. An Unexpected Elf

Thranduil looked upon his army with pride. His forces were strong. Finally the time had come. The wretched dragon Smaug had been slain. The opportunity to reclaim the jewels of Girion, the heirloom of his people, had arrived. His decision was made swiftly. The news of Smaug’s demise would spread like fire and other forces would soon be descending upon the mountain. The jewels could be lost to his people forever. 

It was not the monetary value of the treasure that fueled the longing the King harbored to take back the jewels, but rather the symbolic value they held. These gemstones rightfully belonged in the beloved halls of the Woodland Realm and he intended to be the King who brought them home. 

Hearing of the destruction wrought by the last of the great dragons had also created a dilemma for Thranduil. He knew what it felt like to burn. He knew the suffering a single dragon could wreak upon a people. He did not wish to abandon the souls of Laketown in their time of need. It was, in fact, an inhabitant of Laketown whose bravery had brought an end to the reign of Smaug over the Lonely Mountain and all of the treasure hoarded there. 

This endeavor would require the work of all of Thranduil’s subjects. The farmers, the healers and the military would need to move together as one for a common cause. It was asking a great deal, but the Mirkwood elves had risen to the task with skill and precision, despite the urgency of his demands.

As he passed the wagon’s loaded with aid for the Laketown people, his eyes caught on a misplaced elf. She was dressed in black garb from head to toe. Her appearance and stance was that of a warrior rather than that of a farmer or the two healers standing beside her. She stood almost a head above them and a battle sword was sheathed on her hip. Her head was bowed in deference but her eyes were traveling in appreciation over the elk he was riding upon. She appeared mesmerized by the animal. 

To Thranduil’s surprise, her gaze met his. For a brief second he had the sensation of diving into deep water. She immediately cast her eyes downward and flushed. On another day, Thranduil may have entertained his intrigue, but now was not the time. Still, he knew he had seen her before and he made a mental note to indulge his curiosity to place this elf when the time was appropriate.

For now, he would move his forces under the cloak of darkness. There was a great deal of ground to cover. Thranduil gave the order for the gates to be opened. At dawn they would greet the beleaguered people of Laketown with much needed assistance. If necessary, the elves would meet with force the small band of Dwarfs holding vigil over Erebor’s treasures with an army prepared take back that which rightfully belonged to them.


	3. All in a Day's Work

Resting her mind on the beauty of the starlight, Elorean easily kept pace with the caravan. The army encircled the civilians as they traveled beneath the waxing crescent moon. The King was positioned at the front of the line. His long hair spilled like silver beams across his broad, straight shoulders in the moonlight. The procession followed his lead at a quick clip through the night.

As dawn stretched her painted fingers across the morning sky, they reached the Lonely Mountain. The army took up its position in front of the entryway to Erebor. Elorean and the rest of the civil servants awaited the King’s orders. She watched intently as the lines in the army parted, creating a perfect horizontal walkway. A tired looking man walked through, wearing an expression of astonishment. As he cleared the last two soldiers in the rank, King Thranduil rode up to greet him. 

Elorean could not hear what was said, but her full attention was on Thranduil, awaiting the slight nod that would be the order for the caravan to move. The signal came without delay. They proceeded on command, bringing the wagons alongside the King. The battered people of Laketown descended upon them with eagerness and gratitude. The healers handed off some of their supplies to the men and women swarming them. A few were pulled off immediately by those desperate to have their loved ones attended to. Elorean was not prepared for what she saw when she entered the keep where the wounded were being sheltered. It was the burns that were the worst.

The sounds of pain surrounded her and she hurried to search the bag containing the opiate tinctures. “Always ease the pain first, before you begin to work,” her Mother had taught her. Healers were by nature highly sensitive. Perhaps the biggest challenge in the healing arts was to balance the intuitive, empathic skills with a clear headed, logical response. The goal was, after all, to heal the patient, not to be pulled down into misery. There were so many seriously injured, so many in pain. Elorean had to fight the urge to run back outside into the fresh air. 

Elorean and her fellow healers worked through the day and into the night. She paid little attention to the rumors flowing in. News that the wizard Gandalf the Grey had arrived on the scene did give Elorean a glimmer of hope. She saw him briefly as she was climbing atop the medical wagon in hopes of finding more tinctures of opiate. The suffering of the people she was attending was great and their supplies were running low. 

Later, again, she saw Gandalf, this time in King’s quarters. A large, elaborate tent had been erected to house Thranduil on this journey. After finding no more medicines to ease the pain of her patients, Elorean decided something had to be done. She knew that the King had ordered several barrels of Mirkwood’s finest wines to be packed amongst his personal supplies. She needed one of those barrels to help the burn victims rest easy this night.

Elorean gave no thought to her appearance until the King’s personal guard looked her up and down, twice, disapprovingly, as she approached. Running her fingers through her hair she informed the guard she needed to speak with the King. “On what business?” The guard asked harshly.

“We are in need of assistance from the King in order to fulfill his command,” Elorean replied sounding far more confident then she felt.

“Wait here,” The guard demanded as he parted the curtain to Thranduil’s tent. Elorean waited for what seemed to be an hour. She shifted her weight from foot to foot to distract herself from the doubts creeping into her mind and the overwhelming urge to run and hide in the darkness. She had never held an audience with the King.

“King Thranduil will see you now.” The guard’s abrupt announcement cut through the spinning of her mind and a sense of dread filled her. Elorean called up an image of a suffering boy, crying out in pain for his Mother who was presumed dead. With a renewed determination, she squared her shoulders, held her head high and walked through the gold curtains of Thranduil’s tent. 

His back was facing her as she entered. Thranduil turned toward her, his displeasure at the interruption was evident. His eyes bore down on hers. Then there was a flicker, something happened. His face softened. Elorean froze. For once in her life, she was speechless. 

The King was far more intimidating up close then he was from a distance. Despite their makeshift surroundings and their exhausting endeavor, Thranduil was impeccable in his appearance. He was draped in the finest of robes and a filigreed circlet adorned his finely combed hair. A blue or maybe white jewel dipped over his forehead. The stone paled in comparison to the color of his penetrating eyes. Thranduil broke the long moment of silence “You have a request,” he stated not as a question but rather as a fact. His voice was controlled, but compelling. 

Again, Elorean pulled up the images and sounds of her suffering charges and willed herself to speak on their behalf. “My lord,” She bowed her head in respect. “We have exhausted our supply of opiates. We are in need of a barrel of wine from you.” Thranduil stared at her and her eyes retreated to the ground.“You care for these people?” he asked somewhat incredulously. 

There was a long pause and Elorean grappled to compose herself. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the worn grey of the wizard’s cloak and realized she had interrupted a meeting of far more importance to the King than the request she was making on behalf of the people of Laketown.

“My Lord,” she replied. “Our orders were to provide aid, were they not?” After the words left her mouth she immediately regretted them. They came out sounding more like a challenge then a request. Looking up, she saw the wizard Gandalf. He had a one hand on a pipe sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He looked at Elorean with acknowledgement and then turned to Thranduil. Gandalf tipped his head to the side and looked at that King as if she to say she he had a point. 

Thranduil looked at Elorean again but she could not read his expression. He had, she knew, taken all of her in already, her lack of appropriate attire, her unbraided, untamed hair and her audacity to request wine from his personal store during a meeting of grave significance compared to any business she could be bringing to his attention. 

To her relief and utter astonishment, Thranduil called in his guard and ordered a barrel of wine to follow Elorean immediately back to the place she specified. The guard bowed in acknowledgement of the King’s request and held the curtain open for Elorean to retreat. Without so much as a further look from Thranduil, Elorean knew she had been dismissed. Passing through the opening of the tent she turned back around “Thank You my Lord,” she said earnestly. Thranduil snapped his eyes back up at the elf he had already given leave of and looked at her curiously before giving a slight tip of his head in response.


	4. Intrusion

Thranduil was more than annoyed. The weathered wizard, Gandalf, had galloped into the midst of his well laid plans. Sounding an alarm that threatened to redirect the King’s army away from the uncooperative Dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, and the jewels, Gandalf vehemently insisted a new threat was approaching. 

“Mithrandir, I admire your intentions but…..” Thranduil stopped abruptly as his personal guard stepped into the tent interrupting his conversation with the wizard. The guard bowed his head briefly.

“My Lord, a healer is here and wishes to speak with you,” the guard said. Thranduil stared at the man in uniform whose job it was to thwart unwanted intrusions. The guard was already wishing he had sent the disheveled elf standing outside on her way. “It is Landinir’s sister My Lord. She says she has a request regarding her duties.” 

Thranduil paused for a moment. He turned and lifted a gilded wine decanter from his table, then poured himself a drink. Landinir was amongst his best warriors and a favorite of the King. Lifting his goblet and taking a sip, he said with irritation “I will see her.” The guard nodded with relief and retreated outside. 

“My Lord, I give you Elorean,” the guard announced as he ushered the offending elf into the King’s abode. Thranduil’s eyes were filled with annoyance when they met hers but he stopped short when he recognized she was the misplaced elf he had seen at the beginning of this journey. So, he had seen this one before, she was Landinir’s sister. Her Grandmother had been renowned for her skills and had been his Father’s personal healer. Her lineage, at one point in the past, had been mixed with that of the Lady Galadriel . This explained the golden hair which fell like spun threads all across her face.

Those eyes, Thranduil again had the feeling of being submerged in deep water. She said nothing. Thranduil took in every inch of her, still in her black hunting attire. She appeared somewhat wild. “You have a request,” Thranduil stated to remind himelf of why she was before him and to clear his head of the urge to move closer to her. He could smell her from where he stood, she smelled like the ocean, like tears. 

“My lord, we have exhausted our supply of opiates. We are in need of a barrel of wine from you.” She bowed her head taking her eyes away from him as she made her plea. Her voice was fraught with emotion and Thranduil was perplexed. “You care for these people?” he inquired, willing her eyes to seek out his once again.

She looked up at him. ““My Lord, our orders were to provide aid, were they not?” Thranduil noted a look of amusement on the wizard’s face as Gandalf cocked his head awaiting the King’s reply. Thranduil masked his appreciation of this subordinate’s willingness to play such games with him and gave her a stern, yet expressionless look. 

There was extra wine. It was intended for the celebration that would occur upon the return of the jewels of Girion to the Elvenking and his people. At this point, however, Thranduil felt inclined to give the disarranged elf standing before him anything she asked for. He summoned his guard who appeared on command. “Take a barrel of wine from the store and see to its secure delivery,” he paused “With her.” He gave his guard a serious look to make sure it was clear the wine and the elf were to be escorted safely to their destination under the protection of the King’s forces. 

“Understood my Lord,“ the guard answered before receiving a nod of dismissal from the King. The guard turned to Elorean to take their leave and carry out Thranduil’s orders.

Thranduil redirected his attention back to Gandalf and the flurry of warning the wizard was presenting that darkness was afoot. Once again, she broke through his thoughts. “Thank you my Lord.” This time she did not shy away from looking directly at him and her gratitude, he could see, was not for show. It was genuine. Thranduil felt something stir inside him at her appreciation. He gave her a slight nod, dismissing her once again. 

Gandalf gave Thranduil a knowing, quizzical look. Thranduil scoffed. The mask fell back over his countenance and he returned all of his resources back to the wizard, ready to renew their debate.


	5. Chapter 5

Elorean was escorted back to the keep with four fully armored soldiers, and her barrel of wine. The King must have been concerned that someone would try to steal the wine, she thought, glancing back at the heavily armed guards. Regardless, she was grateful for the his generosity and immediately began administering the deep red, elderberry drink to those who needed it most. 

News that Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Mountain, was refusing to negotiate had traveled down the ranks. King Thranduil had committed to attack the small party of Dwarves at dawn. The only thing the Dwarves had going for them was their strategic location. They were drastically out numbered. At this very moment, Thranduil’s forces were working with the humans, passing on a few vital combat skills they would need, when they too, engaged the Dwarves. 

With so many wounded, Elorean was concerned, but the elven army was highly skilled and she imagined that the confrontation with the Dwarves would be short and without many causalities. After making her rounds, she prepared to see to it that everyone was settled in for the long night. She hurried to find some bedding Alfrid Lickspittle was demanding as he lazily slumped against the wall, making no effort to help. The spirits provided by the King made the dark hours bearable for the healers and for their patients and the rest of the night went without incident. 

At dawn, Elorean stepped out to catch a breath of fresh air and to stretch her legs. She walked along a stone wall that gave her a view of the mountain. From her vantage point, she could see Thranduil atop his great elk and Bard of Laketown upon a white horse riding together toward the mountain. It was an odd alliance, Elorean thought, Thranduil standing side to side with a man.

Elorean gasped when she saw the Drwarf, Thorin Oakneshield, fire a warning arrow between the hooves of Thranduil’s mighty beast. Thranduil was not one to back down from a challenge. Elorean feared the war would begin that very second as she watched the King’s archers take aim at the small party of Dwarves, who promptly took cover. But, with an almost imperceptible movement of his hand, Thranduil ordered his army to stand down. Elorean realized she had been holding her breath and she took in a deep sip of air. Bard the dragon slayer was pulling something out of his jacket and war, for the moment, was averted. 

Suddenly there was a commotion, regarding what she was not sure. Then she saw Oakenshield dangling the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, from the balcony of rocks. She had seen the Hobbit the night before and had even assisted in finding some bedding for him to rest, a request she understood to have been made by the wizard. Again, Elorean found herself holding her breath as the Hobbit, it would seem, was about to meet his doom. 

Then, the booming voice of Gandalf the Grey, amplified by sorcery, cut through the morning air. “If you don't like my burglar, then please don't damage him. Return him to me.” The wizard moved forward to divert Oakenshield from his murderous intentions. Gandalf was successful in catching the attention of the Dwarf King and a few seconds later, Elorean saw the Hobbit scrambling down the mountain aided in his escape by the other Dwarves in their King’s attendance. 

Her relief was short lived. Elorean detected a slight tremor in the ground. Something was happening. Then she saw them. A great army moved in on the mountain. Thranduil had detected something was amiss before she had and was galloping down the line of his soldiers shouting commands. The elven army moved as one and turned to face the incoming threat. 

A vast force of Dwarves marched upon them and Elorean groaned inwardly, all hopes of a happy ending now gone. The Dwarves were formidable foes. She knew the elven army could take them, but this would come at a cost. She also knew her King. Thranduil would not side step to avoid a fight. He moved boldly to the front of the line to meet the threat head on. 

Thranduil faced off with the incoming enemy. Elorean now recognized the armed intruders as the battalions of Dain Ironfoot, Oakenshield’s cousin. Thranduil sat assuredly on the back of his elk ready for battle. Without warning, the surface beneath her feet began to rumble . At first, she thought it was an Earthquake but then rock and debris began spitting out of the ground surrounding the two armies before her. First one, then two monstrous mouths came pummeling out of the ground. Were Worms! 

Elorean could not move. It was impossible, this could not be true. She stood frozen in disbelief. But as the Were Worms came forth and dipped back into their holes, legions of Orc’s came barreling out of the tunnels they had left in their wake. Ironfoot’s army went immediately into formation to face the incoming threat. The elven army stood still awaiting Thranduil’s command. 

At first it appeared Thranduil would not engage. Then, not a moment too soon, he gave the order. The elves overtook the Drawrves, leaping over them in a full offensive attack. Thranduil ran up and down the lines, one eye on the battle and one eye on his troops giving commands. Soon, he himself was emerged in the battle. The King was a lethal weapon, he fought with two swords taking ten of the foul Orcs for every one that his soldiers killed.

Finding her feet, Elorean ran to warn the others and to start moving the injured, the children and the elderly to safety. Panic was already afoot when she entered the keep, but there was no time for emotions. She began giving orders and one by one, the wounded were lifted and taken to the Great Hall.

As Elorean was helping move a badly burned woman she heard a wretched sound. Turning she saw first one Orc and then another. The dark forces were attacking the city of Dale. “Go! Get back!” Elorean shouted as she drew her sword. She quickly dispatched the first Orc of its head and drove through the belly of the next. A dozen men came up behind her and joined in the fight to defend the healers desperately trying to move the weak and infirm to safety.

A man fighting next to her fell, an Orc blade cutting through his heart. Elorean shouted out in anger and quickly drove a blade through its grey neck. Orc blood splattered her face. She leaped forward using the belly of the falling Orc as a launching pad to fly above the warg coming in from behind him. Landing upon its back, she drove her blade through the top of its skull. She did a back flip and hit the ground crouched on her feet. In front of her was King Thranduil’s elk. It was lying on the ground, blood oozing from its nostrils. She reached out to it as it took his final breath. 

Hearing a footfall behind her, Elorean pushed aside her grief for the fallen war elk and vaulted upright, sword drawn. The Orc was already upon her and she had to dodge to avoid its blade. Bending backwards, she parried to the side and caught the Orc with her sword but not before it nicked her shoulder with the point of his blade. The Orc fell.

Ignoring the pain shooting down her arm, Elorean continued to fight. A huge troll had broken through the lines and was making its way in her direction. Looking up, she saw a loose rock. If she could time it correctly, she could take out the offending troll with the boulder. Fighting her way through the crowd she made it to the wall and scaled it with agility. It took everything she had to push the giant slab. Her wounded shoulder ached against the weight of it. Upon inching it to the edge, she paused, waiting for the precise moment. When it came she gave one final heave, sending the stone plummeting down upon the troll’s head, crushing it. 

Elorean rebounded off the ledge and landed in the middle of the action. Before she could get her bearings, an over sized Orc had her by throat. He lifted her up off the ground. Her feet dangled and she caught a whiff of its wretched stink. As its grip tightened, she could not breathe. Her eyes filled with tears and darted around looking for a way out. Her gaze landed upon Thranduil’s, he was looking right at her. He was too far away to offer assistance, but there was something in his eyes, something that commanded her to fight.

Summoning all reverses, Elorean brought her knees to her chest and kicked out her legs with what remaining strength she had, hitting the Orc in its soft middle. The Orc grunted and let go. Elorean fell to the ground with a thud. Before she could catch her breath, the angry Orc was upon her again. She lunged to her feet and elbowed it but it still managed to get a hold on her and she was thrown into the jagged stone wall at her back. She crumbled to her knees and cried out in pain as her injured shoulder took the brunt of the force. The Orc was still coming. She tried to lift herself, but she was not fast enough. The Orc was upon her, sword overhead as she lay beneath it. 

As she looked into the evil creature’s eyes, its blade began to descend upon her. The Orc stopped mid stroke, jerked, and then fell. Thranduil appeared above her and his eyes scanned her for a brief second before he turned to battle next incoming Orc. Thranduil stayed in this position covering her until Elorean was on her feet and wielding her sword again.


	6. Chapter 6

Thranduil had been around for too many millenniums to be surprised by much. The arrival of Dain Ironfoot was an inconvenience but Thranduil was almost looking forward to showing Thorin's mad cousin the cold, steel edge of his blade.

Thranduil was not, however, prepared what came next. The ground began to shudder violently. Exploding from the earth came the enormous heads of Were Worms. It had been many centuries since these mutants had been seen, so long, in fact, most had forgotten of their existence. Thranduil was now forced to accept that the wizard had been right. Something had called the worms forth and that something could be nothing short of the return of the Dark Lord Sauron.

Legions of Orcs spawned from the openings left by the worms. This was not the battle Thranduil had came for and he could feel his beloved jewels slipping away from him. "Thranduil! This is madness!" The voice of Gandalf the Grey cut through his dismay. The Elvenking gave the orders for his army to join in the fight alongside the Dwarves. But they would lead, not follow the troops of Ironfoot. The elves would be the front line of this war. Following Thranduil's command, his forces leapt over the Dwarves and met the Orc threat head on.

Thranduil ran the lines shouting orders and strategically maneuvering his companies, but soon he himself was emerged in the battle. The coward Oakenshield was holed up in the mountain refusing to fight, watching his own fall while he did nothing.

Thranduil swooshed his sword through the necks of Orcs as if they were but water, never faltering, taking out five or six with each swipe of his blade. Orc corpses littered the ground wherever he went. Ironfoot's army fought loudly but bravely. Still, they were losing ground.

In the distance, he could see a legion of the dark foes moving in to attack the city. Thranduil ordered his forces to move in to defend Dale. He led them to the stone bridge where he and his war elk took out every Orc blocking their way. As he emerged through the gateway, his giant beast was slain.

As the elk fell, Thranduil double flipped to a crouched position. His lifted his gaze and briefly surveyed the offending Orcs. Then he rose to his full stature. Wielding two elven forged blades, he began taking them out three at a time.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her. She was still in black, her blond hair flying around her. Each move she made seemed exquisitely choreographed. She fought without fear, sure of herself. Too sure of herself, he thought. She was surrounded by Orcs. This was not one one combat. She was not wearing armor. 

Thranduil kept one eye on her as he began clearing the distance between them but a considerable gap separated them. She continued,cartwheeling and cutting through the foul creatures around her. He saw her flinch when an Orc's dull blade clipped her shoulder. Still, she did not hesitate and continued fighting, her blade slicing through the air hitting its mark again and agin. He watched in amazement as she single handedly ascended a rock wall and pushed a boulder twice as big as herself onto a ghastly large troll, crushing it!

 

For a moment, Thranduil became distracted by a looming pack of Orc's. He cut them down in quick order. He began to search for her again amidst the chaos. When he found her his eyes locked with hers. They were filled with tears, the color of a blue, green lagoon. Large, grey fingers were wrapped around her neck like serpents chocking out her life's breath. She was suspended in mid air. A colossal Orc had lifted her feet off the ground. It was licking its chops and a drool dribbled down its chin.

Thranduil took a step toward her but realized, he would not make it to her in time. The thought of watching her die filled him with dread. He fixed his eyes to hers and and with the same dip of his head that could signal an entire army into war, and with his most severe expression, he silently gave her a King's command to fight. She obeyed.

He watched her knees come up to her chest and then bolt straight out, hitting their mark. He saw the confused countenance as the filth that had hold of her caved in pain and dropped her. Thranduil was close now. The Orc bellowed in anger and recovered its balance. Reaching its blade high over its head, the creature began bringing it down to finish off the elven female laying before it. "Elorean," Thranduil whispered.

With two long, swift strides Thranduil was upon the executing Orc and he drove his blade through its back with a vengeance. Thranduil's eyes travelled over every inch of Elorean. She was wounded but she was not, to his relief, incapacitated. Thranduil stood vigil over her, striking down each incoming threat until Elorean was on her feet fighting again. He vowed not to let her out of his sight. She would answer to her King for risking herself this way.


	7. Chapter 7

Elorean was surprised several times during the intense battle to find she was standing back to back with Thranduil fighting. Somehow it seemed like every time she spun around he was right next to her, or nearby. More than once, it felt as though they were fighting as a unit, each anticipating the other’s next move as they cleared a path for the elven troops to advance. 

After sending a particularly ugly orc head rolling down a hill, she turned and stopped short. A breathless, brown haired elf in armor, but lacking a helmet, was directly in the path of her blade. “Your brother!” he said panting. “He has fallen!” For a moment Elorean felt the world spinning around her. The messenger grabbed her arm. “This way!” he yelled and she ran to follow him in stunned silence.

Elorean felt herself panicking as she stumbled over the lifeless bodies of elf, orc, man and dwarf in her hurry to reach her brother. Finally, they arrived at the spot where Landinir lay. Two of the warriors in his company had dragged him behind a rock, hiding him from further harm. They were working feverishly to staunch the bleeding coming from beneath one of his ribs. “Ella,” her brother said feebly reaching out his hand to her. “I was afraid you would not get here in time for me to say goodbye.” 

Falling to her knees at her brother’s side, Elorean took his hand in hers. “No Landinir, I’m here, you are going to be fine, “she said as a salty tear burned over a small cut in her cheek. She began chanting as she laid her other hand over the gaping wound on his chest. Landinir winced in pain. 

“Ella,” Landinir chocked as he tried to move her hand away. “You have been my best friend, I love you sister.” Elorean heard a screeching overhead and looked up. 

“Landinir, the Eagles! The Eagles are coming! Everything is going to be fine now…we are going home and I am going to make you your favorite, wild berry tarts… and we will dance together at the Festival of Lights..... and we will take long walks along the river....”

Interrupting her, Landinir labored hard to speak. “When your time has come to travel to Mother in Valinor, give her my love and tell her I fought bravely as did Father. Tell her I have gone to be reunited with him.” 

“Landinir,” Elorean sobbed “Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me brother. I love you, I need you.” 

“Ella, you must be strong. You are all that is left of us. You must carry on our line; you must make a new family to love. Perhaps you will have a son and you can tell him about me.” He was fading. 

“But look, Landinir, the Eagles have come, we are saved! You are coming home with me,” Elorean said pleadingly.

“Goodbye sister, carry me in your heart, I will always be with you.” Landinir implored. 

Elorean smiled at her brother hoping to give him comfort in his last moments, but still unable to wrap her heart around the truth. She gently caressed he cheek and softly said “Sleep well sweet brother, you shall live forever in my heart.” His eyes shifted to the sky and she saw the reflection of an Eagle cross them as they became glassy and fixed. Elorean kept talking quietly to him, afraid to stop, afraid if she did it would be real and he would be gone. 

She felt strong arms encircle her and heard the gentle, whispering voice of Luthaniel, her brother’s closest friend. Someone passed a steaming potion under her nose and she felt herself drifting into blessed darkness. Luthaniel carried Elorean to the keep where the healers took her from him. He left a soft kiss on her forehead as he reluctantly let her go. “I’m so sorry,” her murmured to her. “I could not save him. There were too many of them.” 

He watched as they wrapped her in blankets then he took his leave, wanting nothing more than to stay with her. It would take much to move the broken forces back to Mirkwood and Luthaniel and all of the survivors had a difficult task ahead of them.

A quiet light leaked through the cracks of nothingness. It was the first light of morning and the twitter of awakening birds could be heard in the distance. Elorean slowly opened her eyes to the sound of hushed voices in the room next to her. It was all very familiar, yet she felt strangely out of place. She blinked.

“Elorean,” a beautiful, blond haired elf glided to her side. “You are awake!” It was Aleial, a fellow healer that Elorean had worked with for over three decades. “How are you feeling my darling?” she asked gently. It took only seconds for Elorean to remember what was wrong and she hiccupped and began sobbing. She was home, but without Landinir, there was no home anymore. 

“Enough!” A crisp voice cut through Elorean’s mourning. It was the matriarch of the healers, the Lady Gwinethiel. “You have my sympathy Elorean, but everyone has lost someone on this day and you have had more time than most to recover. Get out of your sick bed and get something to eat now. You are needed elsewhere.” 

Gwinethiel looked at the shocked face of Aleial and gave her a rigid nod. Aleial immediately understood what was expected of her. She took Elorean by the hand and said “Come then, let us get you something to eat and a warm bath, we have much to do.” 

With a worried stare, Gwinethial watched the pair walk through the doorway, Aleial placing her arm around the drooping shoulders of the taller, broken elf Elorean. She knew the destructive power of grief and she was determined to get Elorean back on her feet and engaged in her work before sorrow could reach its claws any further into her heart. The Mirkwood elves could not afford to lose another soul, much less a talented healer at this point. Their losses had already cut far too deep.


	8. Chapter 8

Landinir's sister fought well. Thranduil was not easily impressed, but she was as skilled as many of his Captains. She was observant as well. Several times, Thranduil noticed her watching him and then copying his moves. Still, she was reckless. This was not a training exercise. This was real. Twice, Thranduil caught the tip of an Orc’s blade just before it reached her. Without armor, she was exposed and a few cuts could weaken her and make her an easy target. 

Thranduil was relieved when an elf from her brother’s company came to fetch her and take her off of the battlefield. He assumed Landinir would properly admonish his younger sibling for throwing herself into the heat of battle without a company, a Captain or the proper training of a soldier.

The fighting had become epic, far greater than what Thranduil had anticipated. For every Orc he cut down, two more came forth to replenish it. At the first sign of a clearing, Thranduil took stock. It was a horrifying scene. 

The blood of elves ran thick beneath his feet. The losses were too many to count. His heart surged into his throat. They had come to battle a handful of dwarves, to reclaim the jewels of his people, not for this. The casualties were too great. He stared wide eyed at the carnage. As he sensed Feren approaching, Thranduil gave the order. “Recall your company, “he said without looking up. He would lead his people away from this massacre before he allowed one more elf to fall.

“My lord! Dispatch this force to Ravenhill, the Dwarves are about to be overrun! Thorin must be warned!” A wearied Gandalf exclaimed as he raced to Thranduil. Gandalf was too late. Thranduil was beyond being persuaded. “By all means, warn him. I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. No more!” Thranduil replied so passionately that the old wizard was speechless.

Thranduil turned to prepare to lead his forces back to Mirkwood. They would return home where they would endure, removed from the dark madness that now threatened to overcome them. His resolve pulled him away from the overwhelming grief surrounding him. His motivation to remove all of his people from this scene gave him a renewed sense of purpose. 

Thranduil was moving decisively without delay. Feren and his troops followed close behind. A growling Orc stepped into their path. Barely breaking his stride, Thranduil unsheathed his sword. In one swift motion he decapitated the beast. Continuing, he sensed something ahead. Looking up, he saw Tauriel. She was blocking the path. He was surprised to see her there. Tauriel had been banished. He was already furious with her. She had taken Legolas on a fool’s mission to save the Dwarves. Legolas had followed her like a lost puppy, despite the King’s command that his son return home. 

Tauriel’s interest in Legolas was fickle. She would defy her King on all fronts for the Dwarf, Kili, but did not dare disobey Thranduil in order to win Legolas. That told him everything he needed to know. Legolas may be smitten by her, but unless she was willing to move the same mountains for Legolas as she was for the Dwarf, her heart was deceiving her. He wanted more for his son. 

“Wea oih hilah! You will go no further… You will not turn away. Not this time!” Tauriel barked. 

Thranduil glared at her. “Get out of my way.” He said with disgust. 

“The dwarves will be slaughtered,” Tauriel said dramatically.

“Yes, they will die. Today, tomorrow, one year hence, a hundred years from now. What does it matter? They're mortal.” Thranduil replied with disdain. 

Thranduil was appalled when Tauriel rashly grabbed an arrow and pulled it back in her bow. Did she think he was Legolas? Did she think he would risk his life for her silly crush? Did she forget he was King? Did she think he could not strike her down this very instant? 

“You think your life is worth more than theirs, when there is no love in it? There is no love in you!” she said accusingly. 

Thranduil had had enough. Catching her off guard, he lashed out with his sword, slicing Tauriel’s bow in half while she held it. It clanked to the ground and Tauriel looked at him in astonishment, tears welling in her eyes. 

Thranduil lifted the tip of his sword to her neck. “ What do you know of love? Nothing! What you feel for that dwarf is not real. You think it is love? Are you willing to die for it? “ he asked.

Another blade touched Thranduil’s deflecting it away from Tauriel's throat. Knowing it was his son, Thranduil did nothing to defend his position. 

“If you harm her...you will have to kill me.” Legolas said angrily. 

Thranduil looked down. He had shown great restraint. He had not shed a single drop of her blood despite the fact that Tauriel had drawn her weapon upon him and had openly defied him in front of all of his men. 

Thranduil was a powerful King, but first he was a Father. He understood his son’s pain and he held his tongue. What Legolas felt for Tauriel was real, even if the feeling was not mutual. Thranduil was willing to allow Legolas his anger, even if it was misplaced. He understood his son’s need to establish himself outside of the rule of his Father. Still, his son’s open defiance stung. 

Legolas stepped between his father and Tauriel, blocking their view of each other. “I will go with you,” he said gallantly, but quietly to Tauriel. She seized the moment and quickly fled, successful once again in her campaign to employ the Prince in her cause to save the object of her affection. There was nothing more Thranduil could do to stop him.

After tending to most of the requirements at hand, Thranduil left without his personal guard to find Legolas. He knew he would find his son in Riverdale with Tauriel, defending the Dwarves. Fear gripped him as he wandered through the caves. It appeared as if no one had survived the battle there. He looked closely at the dead. Was it possible that Legolas had fallen too? It was not a thought Thranduil had ever entertained. He personally had trained his son from birth. Legolas was fire proof, indestructible. Thranduil had seen to that. But where was he?

To his great relief, Legolas appeared around a corner. “I can not go back,” Legolas said crestfallen.

“Where will you go?” Thranduil replied, his heart breaking for his son. With every fiber of his being, Thranduil wanted nothing more than for Legolas to stay by his side. 

“I do not know.” His son said in confusion. He looked lost, but determined. 

Thranduil paused. He knew Legolas needed direction. He wanted to give him something, something to hold on to. Thranduil understood that in order to heal, Legolas would have to strike out on his own. He made the decision to do the only thing a Father could do. 

“Go to the North. Meet with the Dunedain. There is a young Ranger among them. His father, Arathorn, was a good man. His son may grow to be a great one.” Thranduil said gently.

“What is his name?” Legolas asked. Thranduil felt relieved seeing his son’s interest. This was a good sign. 

“He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name, you must discover for yourself, “Thranduil said hoping he was giving his son a clear goal and a challenge that would spark enough curiosity to move him beyond his depression and inspire his sense of adventure. Legolas had always had an adventurous spirit. It was a trait he had inherited from his Mother. This spirit, Thraduil believed, would pull his beloved son through his loss. 

Legolas nodded and turned to leave. Thranduil knew that part of this pain belonged to the very young Legolas, the one who had an adoring Mother who disappeared from his life in a sudden, violent moment. This trauma explained much of the devotion Tauriel had brought forth in Legolas. It was an old longing, an ancient hurt that had not healed in his son. 

“Legolas, Your mother loved you more than anything. More than life itself.” Thraduil said in parting words of love, words he hoped would reach his son’s broken heart. 

Legolas froze, taking it in as much as he could bear without falling apart. This was what he longed to hear the most. If he were still a child, he would have run to his Father’s arms. Instead he gave him his love, touching his own heart and reaching out his hand. He turned to see his Father doing the same. Legolas fled before he could change his mind. 

Thranduil watched his son depart and steeled himself. He knew he had to let him go. Turning to the opening behind him, he walked into the clearing to find Tauriel holding vigil over her fallen Dwarf. Her grief was apparent and Thranduil recognized it as authentic. He did his best to comfort her despite all that had transpired between them. She was still his charge, his responsibility. There was enough sadness this day. He had no desire to add to anyone’s suffering.

Thranduil stood tall and attended to his people, bringing the wounded and the strong back to Mrikwood. He labored for days seeing to the needs of those around him. The stress of the battle and the gravity of the losses had taken its toll. The absence of Legolas was a hole in his heart. Thranduil felt drained. Old wounds were surfacing. Invisible scars began to appear when he disrobed to bathe. Thranduil sent for a healer. He needed to regain his strength in order to lead his people in their recovery.


	9. Chapter 9

Aleial chattered through breakfast, but Elorean did not hear much of what she said. The bread stuck in her throat. Swallowing felt difficult and her head was pounding. All of the colors around her seemed dull and the sounds loud. She wanted nothing more than to hide in a dark corner.

Her friend filled her in on all of the gossip. Elorean caught enough, as she was preparing to bathe, to hear that the Prince had left Mirkwood after a disagreement with the King. Elorean asked Aleial to leave as she prepared to undress. She never felt comfortable being coddled and was too private to allow another to be present while she washed. Aleial looked worried, but she seemed to understand and gave Elorean her privacy. 

Going through the motions of dragging the sponge across her skin, Elorean let the tears that had been building up behind her eyes flow freely now. She felt her brother’s loss down to her bones. Dressing in the clean healer’s gown Aleial had left for her, Elorean felt as if the walls were closing in around her. She needed to get out.

Quietly, she opened the door to her bathing chamber and peeked around the corner. Aleial was down the hall conversing with a dark haired elven woman, and as usual, Aleial was doing all of the talking. Elorean slipped out quietly and tip toed to the nearest exit to make her escape. She walked as briskly as she could without calling attention to herself. Reaching the edge of the village, she climbed the wall, not an easy task in a skirt, and plopped down on the other side.

Standing back up, she brushed herself off. He skirt had gotten caught on her decorative belt exposing her long, white legs. When she had released the hem of her gown from her waist, she looked up. A party of at least a half dozen elves on horseback was stopped on the path before her, staring at her in astonishment. Elorean quickly recognized the insignia on their clothing as that of the King’s guard. 

As her eyes wandered over the group, they fell upon an elaborate golden cape. Following the brocaded pattern upward, her gaze landed upon the luminous, clear blue eyes of the King. He stared at her both sternly and quizzically. Not knowing what else to do, Elorean dropped to one knee and bowed.

“Rise,” was all Thranduil said, but he continued to stare at her as did his dumfounded attendants. “Where are you going?” he commanded. Elorean did not look at him.

“F…For a walk, My Lord,” Elorean answered, her own voice sounding foreign to her. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. So intent she had been on making it to the solitude of the forest, she had forgotten to make sure the coast was clear before ungracefully plummeting herself over the rock fortress.

“It is forbidden to leave these walls without permission,” Thranduil said, noting the dark circles under the downcast eyes of the elf standing before him. He wished she would look at him.

“Yes My Lord,” Elorean answered, not daring to move a muscle. 

In one fluid motion, Thranduil dismounted and was standing in front of her. She kept her mind fixed on his polished, brown riding boots.

“The laws exist for your protection Elorean. They are not optional.”

Elorean’s head popped up in surprise when the King called her by name. She knew she should say something, but her thoughts had become disorganized and she was unsure of how to respond.

“Come” Thranduil ordered. Turning his heel he walked back to his tall, black stallion. He stopped at the horse’s flank and paused to wait for Elorean. Realizing she was supposed to follow him, she scrambled to obey, but the toe of her sandal sunk in the muck and she stumbled. 

Thranduil reached out and caught her before she slammed into him. He steadied her with a half roll of his eyes. Pulling her by the waist, he moved her into a mounting position and gave her a push. Elorean looked down at her gown. Seeing her predicament, the King mounted first and then effortlessly pulled Elorean up in front of him so she was seated side saddle. With one hand on the reins and one strong arm wrapped around her like a belt, Thranduil nudged his horse. 

The trip to the front gate was short but not so short that Elorean did not begin to wonder how much trouble she was in. Looking at the Captain riding next to her made her think of Landinir and how strong and handsome he had been in the same uniform. The numbness of grief that had been held at bay during this episode was starting to seep back in. If it were not for the tingling sensation of the King’s arm encompassing her, she might have thought she was dreaming.

When they reached the King’s hall, Thranduil lifted himself off his horse and reached up to assist Elorean down. Her legs felt wobbly, like they were going to buckle beneath her as her feet hit the ground. Once again, Thranduil ‘s arm encircled and steadying her. Two of the guards dismounted and followed the King. The other’s continued on to tend to the horses.

Elorean was escorted into the King’s dwelling where they were met by servants who took the King’s riding cape and replaced it with a heavier, bejeweled one. Elorean followed quietly behind him, not sure what she should do. Upon entering the King’s chamber, he poured a glass of wine into a garnet goblet, and then poured a second. He handed one to Elorean. She grasped it with both hands, afraid of dropping the heavy, probably priceless piece. “If I remember correctly, you are rather fond of my wine,” the King said looking at her somewhat amused. 

Elorean responded with a half smile, still not knowing what to say. “The last elf who insisted on defying my orders to stay within these walls was banished,” Thranduil said, his amusement turning into a stone cold stare. 

“Yes My lord.” Elorean replied,” looking at the ground once again. 

“You fought well at Erobor,” Thranduil said, hoping to get her to look up at him again.

“Thank you My King,” she responded, eyes pinned to the floor.

“I admire your courage, but you could have been killed, “ Thranduil admonished. “You take too many risks Elorean. The forest is filled with spiders and other foul creatures. There are packs of Orcs roaming the hills near our borders. You will stay within these walls, do you understand me?”

“Yes My Lord” Elorean answered, but her eyes flashed and Thranduil wondered if she truly understood the dangers she seemed accustomed to placing herself in. 

“Your brother was a good soldier, his presence here is missed. I am sorry for your loss,” the tone in his voice was like a gentle caress. 

Elorean’s shoulders fell and she felt as though she was tumbling through a dark tunnel as the realization of her loss came back at her full force. She blinked back the tears. Thranduil could tell by her short breaths, she was desperately trying not to cry.

“My Lord. ” Elorean turned towards a familiar voice entering the room. It was Gwinethiel’s daughter, Callistia. Renowned for her beauty, some said she was the most exquisite elf in Mirkwood. Carrying a tasseled, silk pillow with cloths, oils and tinctures, Callistia was dressed for the occasion of tending to the King. She wore a flowing white gown. A lace shawl was draped over her shoulders. Crowning her glorious white hair that had been washed and combed until it shined, was a simple, silver circlet. It complimented the crystal blue of her eyes, making them stand out like ice blue gems. Adorning her hips was a gold threaded tie with tassels that matched the ones on the pillow she was carrying. Callistia was breathtaking. 

“Elorean! Mother is quite is quite displeased that you did not return this morning to complete your tasks” Callista said loftily. Since Elorean’s Mother had crossed to Valinor and Gwinethiel had taken her place, Callista had been favored above all others. She had both status and beauty and often behaved as if she were the matriarch of the healers rather than her Mother. 

“I...” Elorean started to say, but Thranduil interrupted her.

“You may leave your instruments on the table,” he said pointing to the marble slab next to the pool. “Elorean will be attending me this evening.”  
“My Lord,” Callistia said aghast, “Elorean has not been properly trained to assist you.”

That will be all!” Thranduil replied sharply.

Callistia bowed slightly and reluctantly took her pillow and its supplies to the poolside. Walking out of the hall, she checked to make sure the king was not watching her. Turning, she glared at Elorean and shook her head as if predicting Elorean’s doom. 

Elorean was filled with dread. Callistia was right. She had not been trained in the decorum and rules for attending to royalty. Only a few, privileged, talented healers were ever allowed to attend to the King’s throughout the ages. She knew from the stories her Grandmother and Mother had told her that it was a high honor, but one that required great skill and knowledge of proper etiquette. 

Elorean turned to Thranduil, but he had moved to the side of the pool. He was disrobing. Elorean quickly averted her eyes and turned her back to him. She lifted the wine goblet she was still holding with both hands and drank it all in three gulps.


	10. Chapter 10

Elorean felt a warm flush on her cheeks. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the King’s current state of undress. She heard the movement of water as he stepped into the pool. Setting her empty goblet on the table, Elorean took a deep breath and turned. 

The King’s garments were laying poolside in a heap. She busied herself by picking them up and folding them. "Leave them," Thranduil said. "You are a healer, not a maid." Elorean dropped the offending items back on the floor.

"You may wash me," Thranduil said. Elorean gulped. Looking at the pillow left by Callistia, she saw the sponge and realized he was serious. She picked it up along with the sandalwood scented soap and walked over to the King. He was immersed in the water with his back facing her. His bare shoulders were exposed and the ends of his long hair floated around him. Candlelight danced across the surface of the water.

Dipping the sponge, she applied the soap and ran her fingers over the King’s shoulders. Immediately she could sense the tension. There were places that were hot, old wounds she thought, probably burns. As she washed his back, she began her healing work.

Her fingers played along his shoulder blades and spine. Thranduil inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Her touch held an electricity like nothing he had ever felt before. As she pressed deeper into the places where his scars hid beneath his skin, he felt a profound longing. Soon her hands were moving forward and her arms wrapped around his neck. He could feel the heat of her body as she leaned over him. 

Like feathers, her fingers traced the wound down his chest. As they trailed over his nipple, he groaned. He could take it no more. Spinning himself around to face her, he grabbed her by the wrists and held her there tightly "Do not start something you cannot finish a Elorean!" He said harshly.

Elorean was jerked out of the trancelike state she entered when doing her healing work so abruptly it shook her to the core. Thranduil was glaring at her, his crystal blue eyes blazing. Pain shot through her hands and fingers. The heightened sensitivity in her fingertips that happened when she was working, now became like a million needles puncturing her flesh. She cried out in pain.

For a moment Thranduil was confused, and then he realized she was not intentionally arousing him. He saw first the shock, and then the pain cross her face. When she cried out, he immediately released her from the death grip he had on her thinly boned wrists. 

Once free, Elorean leapt to her feet and bolted as fast as her legs would carry her. Thranduil called out to her “Elorean…. Elorean!” She was already gone. He stepped out of the pool shaken and retrieved a towel on his own to dry himself.

Elorean returned to the healer’s dwelling having nowhere else to go. Seeing her distraught appearance, Callistia smiled smugly and went to find her Mother. Elorean retired to her room, locking the door behind her. Her mind swirled all night long and a deep sadness overtook her. She had never felt so utterly and completely alone. 

At the first light of morning, the door to her quarters flew open and Madam Gwinethiel loomed above her, the master key dangling from one hand. “Get up,” she spat. Elorean stood, rubbing her bruised wrists. “Did you really think yourself worthy of the King?” Gwinethiel demanded. “He belongs to Callistia!” the matriarch spat at her. With disgust, Gwinethial ordered Elorean to dress and go to the barns. “You will be a healer for the animals now!” Gwinethial said marching out of the room.

Elorean sighed and began to prepare for her day. The idea of working with the animals actually made her feel a bit better. However lowly the status of the animal healers might be, it was work that Elorean had always found close to her heart and comforting. She secretly smiled. This was not a punishment for her, it was a welcomed reprieve.

Gathering her tools and tonics, Elorean set out for the stables wearing her leggings, smock and boots. The first horse to greet her was Landinir’s. She sensed the horse’s sorrow. They were kindred souls now, sentenced to the same grief. He had been injured quite gravely in the battle, trying to take her wounded brother to safety. How he survived, she was not sure, but Elorean was grateful to see that her brother’s horse, Navar, had been treated with great care. He was healing. She put her hand on his withers and began to work.

“Ellie!” a voice called and Elorean turned to see Luthaniel. So happy she was to see him, she raced into his embrace. He hugged her tightly. “How are you?” he asked pulling her back to look at her. 

“I am fine,” Elorean said. Luthaniel knew better. "Ellie," he said brushing the hair out of her eyes. The dam burst and a million tears came forth like a tsunami. Luthaniel held her for a long time while she cried, running his fingers through her hair and rocking her. When her sobs began to subside he said, “I think I know just what you need.”

Leading her out of the barn, he drew his sword. “Duel?” he asked with a grin. Elorean smiled and unholstered her blade. They began parrying over the piles of hay, the sound of steel hitting steel causing the feeding livestock to look up in alarm. Elorean lost herself in the moment and basked in the exertion and challenge under the late morning sunlight. 

As their weapons clashed overhead Luthaniel quickly withdrew his blade and dropped to one knee. Elorean turned to find the King and his guard standing beneath the pile of straw she and Luthaniel were playing upon. 

“My Lord,” Luthaniel said. Elorean let the tip of her sword drop to her feet and bowed her head. 

“You may take your leave,” Thranduil said flatly to Luthaniel. He quickly scrambled away. 

Dismissing his guard, Thranduil walked over to the end of the hay stack Elorean was perched upon and offered her his hand. Ignoring the gesture, Elorean jumped off the ledge, landing directly in front of the King. Thranduil drew his sword. Taking a step back, he held out both arms and took a slight bow before coming at her.

Elorean quickly raised her blade to block his attack. Within seconds, Thranduil had knocked her sword out of her hands. ‘You fight well Elorean, but you left side is weak.” 

She bent down and retrieved her weapon with her right hand. Twirling it around once, she lunged at him with everything she had. Time and time again she went after him until her arm became wearied. Gripping the leather banded handle with both hands, she charged again spinning and thrusting at him from every angle. He blocked every shot she took and with each attempt, he placed the tip of his sword on her left shoulder, her left midsection, her left thigh and finally her left breast. She stopped, breathless. 

“Both sides must be equally strong Elorean,” Thranduil said. 

Elorean’s eyes flared at him like turquoise jewels. She bent over and grasped her knees sucking in air. The sleeves on her smock rode up as she did so, uncovering the purple bracelets Thranduil had left on her wrists the night before. 

Dropping his sword he walked over to her and lifted her hands gently. Turning her palms upward his thumbs traveled over the deep violet marks. “Elorean,” he murmured achingly, not taking his eyes off the damage he had done.


	11. Chapter 11

Elorean tried to pull her hands away, feeling deeply ashamed about her healing session with the King. His reaction had stunned her. She still did not know what she had done wrong. Callistia had been trained to be his healer, not her. He had made that painfully obvious. 

Thranduil felt her pulling away from him, but he held on to her hands firmly. This time, he was not going to let her get away. A soft, pink flush crept up her cheeks. Her eyes were glued to the ground. Letting go of her left hand, he gently placed his fingers under her chin and tilted her head up. Her marine blue eyes were misty and bloodshot. She looked as if she had been crying forever. 

He stepped in towards her, his touch drifting to the dark circles under her eyes. Preventing her escape, he kept a firm grip on her right hand. “I did not mean to hurt you Elorean,” he said. His voice was soothing, like the soft sound of summer rain on the leaves of the forest. 

“What happened to you?” Elorean asked, finding her voice. “Are they burns?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Dragon,” was all he said before releasing her and turning to the sound of approaching horse hooves. “My Lord,” Feren said bowing his head. The spiders have made it across the river. 

“Assemble a party. Meet me at the gate,” Thranduil ordered.

“You will be leading?” Feren asked surprised.

“Yes,” Thranduil answered. “I have ordered that nest to be destroyed twice now. This time I intend to see it done myself.” Turning around, he saw that Elorean was nowhere in sight. She had bolted again. He walked to the stables to retrieve his horse. The stable hand rushed to greet him, but Thranduil dismissed him, preferring to ready the animal himself. 

The horse seemed to bow when Thranduil opened the door to its stall. He stroked the animal’s withers, waiting for her.  
“Why do you hide in the shadows, I know you are there, “he said. Elorean stepped out from behind the tack rack. “I have to finish my work,” she replied

“What work?” Thranduil asked.

“I am assigned to the animals, “ Elorean answered.

“What?” Thranduil demanded.

“I displeased Madam Gwinithiel.” Elorean said. 

“Come here,” Thranduil ordered.

Elorean’s pupils grew large and he could see her eyes darting, searching for a way out around him. 

“I will not hurt you,” he said softy.

Elorean cautiously walked over to where he stood with his horse. “Your gifts will not be wasted in the barnyard.” He reached up and pushed a stray strand of her untied hair away from her eyes. He smiled when she did not flinch. With that, he turned, led his horse to door and galloped off. Elorean sighed watching him leave. She felt overwhelmed and longed to rest, but she had work to finish with the animals.

It was growing dark as she returned to the healer’s quarters. Elorean found Madam Gwinithiel and Callistia sitting at a table fuming. “You are late!” Gwinithiel said as she rose. “The meal is over, go to your chamber!” 

Elorean walked to her room, closing the door behind her. Her stomach growled painfully. She had not eaten since she managed to swallow a small handful of berries that morning. She told herself she did not care and slumped down in the corner wrapping a quilt around her. It was a quilt her Mother had made for her before leaving for Valinor. Elorean tightened the fabric encircling her with her fists, pretending it was her Mother’s arms. She closed her eyes and drifted into a restless slumber.

It was still dark out when Callistia stormed into her chamber, holding the master key. No matter, Elorean thought. She had left the door unlocked, deciding not to give them the pleasure of violating her attempts at privacy.

“Prepare yourself!” Callistia ordered haughtily. ”You are going to the prison today,” she slammed the door behind her.  
Elorean stood, stretching her cramped muscles. Stripping, she washed at the small basin and pulled on a clean smock. She left for the kitchen with her hair still damp.

Aleial was already up preparing breakfast. She handed Elorean a cup of thick, green tea and a biscuit. “Elorean, you look awful dear,” she said worriedly. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I am fine Aleial,” she said, hungrily stuffing the biscuit into her mouth.

“Here,” Aleial said handing her a shiny, ruby apple. Looking around to make sure no one was in earshot, Aleial whispered “The King was furious with Madam Gwinethiel! He sent a messenger saying he would not tolerate her wasting her resources by assigning her physicians to tend to the dogs! Be careful Elorean, she is really angry.”

They both turned abruptly to the sound of Madam Gwinithiel clearing her throat as she entered the room. “Elorean, you are to work at the prisons today. There is a nasty pox spreading among the inmates. Do not return until you have attended to all of them!” She said, her voice dripping icicles. 

“Yes Madam,” Elorean said and began walking to the door. 

“You can leave that in the bowl,” she said pointing the ripe fruit Elorean was carrying. Her mouth watering, Elorean placed the fruit in the dish and walked out. She was feeling weak from having eaten so little. Her appetite that had left her when her brother died had returned now with a vengeance. 

Elorean began the walk to the great underground halls where the prisoners were kept. The morning chill bit into her. She had not thought to bring her cape as she seldom ventured out before the sun warmed the morning air.

There was a stench in the prison. The smell of festering wounds made her stomach lurch. She barely made it to a pale before retching. Her undigested biscuit floated atop the slimy filth and Elorean took a moment to steady herself before heading to the guard. “Where are your supplies?” she asked. The guard looked at her unimpressed. 

“Over there,” he said pointing to a worn, unvarnished door. Elorean was disappointed with the meager medicinal store she had to work with. Taking what she thought might help, she pulled her shoulders back, tossed her unruly hair over her shoulder, and set out to work. 

The situation was abysmal. Fifteen patients had advanced cases of the pox, another dozen were showing symptoms. Without the proper supplies, Elorean had to use all of her own energy in the healing work. It was rewarding to provide relief to these poor souls, but by the time she reached the fifth patient she was feeling immensely fragile and drained. She did not dare send for assistance as she remembered, with dread, Madam Gwinithiel’s requirement that she not return until every patient had been seen.

Having acclimated to the nauseating smell, she now felt the sharp pangs of hunger and wondered if there would be any provision made for her lunch. She doubted this would be the case. The guard had completely ignored her presence since she arrived, not even bothering to look at her when she requested a lock to be opened.

As she entered the cell of the fifth patient, he smiled warmly at her. When he did, his eyes smiled too. He reached out a hand from his cot, “My dear, you look worse than I do.” Elorean gave him her best smile as her heart sank. This was the most advanced case she had seen yet and the hand of the elderly Dwarf lying in front of her shook in his effort to greet her. 

Grasping his hand in hers, she knelt beside him. “I am Elorean, I am here to help you.” 

“I am Leonin, of the house of Solois. It is a pleasure to meet you my lady.” 

“The pleasure is all mine Leonin,” Elorean said, trying not to show her alarm at his condition. Elorean immediately began laying her hands upon him, but he stopped her.

“Save your strength for the others, my dear. I will not survive this time.” Elorean felt a lump in her throat. She knew she could save him if only she had the right supplies and perhaps a bite to eat. Her reserves were running low. The current in her hands was sparking on and off like a lonely firefly searching for a mate. 

“Why are you here Leonin?” Elorean asked. 

“There was a great battle at Erebor he said. I was carried off…,” he chuckled, “Carried off by a war bat of all things!”  
Elorean smiled and urged him to continue. “The cursed thing dropped me. The King’s guards found me wandering the roads of Mirkwood,” the senior Dwarf said. 

Elorean blinked. “Yes, but how did you end up in prison?”

The old Dwarf looked at her regretfully. “Trespassing my dear. I was trespassing.”

Elorean felt a familiar urge rise up inside of her. It was one that caused her great trouble more often than not. Her Grandmother had once told her she had a healer’s touch, and a warrior’s heart. The injustice of the elderly Dwarf’s situation made her dizzy. 

“I am going to help you!” Elorean exclaimed. Leaving the side of the ailing Dwarf and throwing all caution to the wind, she marched over to the apathetic guard. 

“I demand to see the King. Immediately!” she said with such force he took a step backwards and almost tripped over a bucket.


	12. Chapter 12

Thranduil was irritated. Callistia was here again and he was weary. He had fought the entire afternoon with a small band of his soldiers. The spiders were growing bold and seemed to thrive in the darkness that now covered middle earth. They spawned and sprang forth in multitudes and posed a constant threat to the borders of Mirkwood. 

He felt sticky. The arachnid blood was like goo that stayed damp on his clothing and skin. He had undressed and was bathing when the healer entered the room. He informed her he was not in need of her services this day, but she continued despite his objections as if she were compelled by external forces. Her touch was soft when she implored him to allow her to at least massage his tired shoulders.

His mind drifted to the misty, red rimmed eyes of the elf that had captured his thoughts of late, Elorean. Closing his eyes, he imagined it was her hands that caressed him. These hands were cold though and it was hard to ignite the same heat that grew within him when Elorean had run her fingers over the same path Callistia’s were now following. 

As he relaxed, it became easier. He did not object when her fingertips grazed his nipple and began traveling downward. She was as bold as the spiders he thought as her hand reached his manhood and began rhythmically stoking him. 

He found himself swimming in the memory of Elorean’s eyes as Callistia’s administrations became more fervent and hard. He climaxed, his seed spilling into the pool. Callistia kissed his ear. “Are you pleased My Lord?” she asked.

Thranduil felt empty and did not answer. He stood as Callistia retrieved a large, soft towel that had been warming by the fire. As she reached to dry him, he took it from her and wrapped it around his waist. “That will be all,” he said coldly. 

Callistia pouted. She slipped her white gown off one shoulder, bearing her breast. Licking her fingertip she began massaging and pinching her own nipple making it red and erect. Her other hand roamed down and began lifting her skirt.

A commotion caused them both to turn as Elorean burst into the room followed by a distressed looking attendant. Elorean stopped in her tracks and stared. Callistia quickly covered herself and glared at Elorean with disgust and dismay.

“I am sorry My Lord,” the attendant said, cradling his arm. “I tried to stop her.”

Thranduil glowered at Elorean. He was livid. 

Elorean took in the scene before her and her heart fell. So this is what it meant to be the King’s healer, she thought. Callistia was welcome to have the job, she did not want it. 

Recalibrating her thoughts, she bravely looked directly at Thranduil. “Your prisoners are dying. You have an old Dwarf in custody that has committed no crime and is wasting away in your dungeon. I demand that you release him immediately so that he may return to the care of his people!” she blurted accusingly. 

“Leave!” Thranduil shouted turning toward Callistia.

Smirking at the haggard elf screaming at the King, Callistia elegantly left the room, confident her position was secure.

Enraged, Thranduil cleared the space separating them and grabbed Elorean by the throat, slamming her against the rock wall. “Do not presume to tell me what crimes the Dwarf has committed against my people!” he shouted, his face inches from hers. "You know nothing of what the Dwarves are capable of!"

Elorean was dazed, her head had hit the stone hard. Thranduil’s grip was blocking her air and she could not breathe. She felt herself slipping away.  
Thranduil felt himself growing hard again despite the release Callistia had coerced in the pool. The elf he wanted was right in front of him. He pinned her shoulders against the wall and kissed her with brutal force, his teeth cutting into her lip. His dug his hips into hers, grinding her back into the rough surface she was trapped against.

When he tasted her blood, he caught himself. Jerking back, he looked into her eyes. Their depth was gone. They looked shallow and vacant as if she was not there. He let go of her shoulders and she collapsed. Thranduil caught her on his knees before she hit the ground. Pulling her to him he urgently coaxed ‘Elorean! Breathe… breathe...” Placing his lips next to her ear he inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Breath with me, myrialor.” 

He felt her body spasm with a short breath. “Good myri. Breathe, breathe with me now.” He continued to inhale and exhale slowly with her until he was certain she taking in air on her own. 

He pulled back and cradled her head on his elbow. Cupping her face with his hand he searched her eyes. “Are you hurt Elora? Did I hurt you myri?” his voice husky. Seeing the tempest of terror in her eyes he hugged her to his chest. “Elora, it is okay, you are safe. It is over myri. No harm will come to you now." 

Thranduil buried his face in her hair squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He felt as though there were a boulder on his chest crushing his heart. He held her for a moment until he regained his own breath. 

Standing, he lifted her and carried her to his bed chamber. He could feel her trembling. Laying her on the luxurious linens, he began to undress her. She weakly raised a hand to stop him, panic crossing her face. He grasped her hand in his. “Elora, I have to make sure you are okay. I need to see where you are hurt. It will be okay. I will take care of you myri. You are safe now.” 

Elorean tried to protest but the room became dark and she floated easily into the void of nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Myrialor-term of endearment that has multiple meanings in elvish such as , sweetheart, baby and my love


	13. Chapter 13

Panic cut through him like a sharp blade when Thranduil saw Elorean’s eyes going blank again. “Elora, stay with me. Stay with me myri….” But he had lost her. Yelling for the attendant, he ordered that a healer be brought to him immediately. “Wait!” he barked as the attendant rushed to do his bidding.

“My Lord?” the flustered attendant asked.

“Not Gwinithiel and not Callistia!” He searched his mind and tried to remember who he had seen Elorean with. “I want the dark haired healer, the one who worked with Elorean in Erebor!”

The guard bowed and ran, frantic at the urgency of the King’s request.

Thranduil placed a wet cloth on Elorean’s forehead and talked soothingly to her in elvish as he began undressing her. He felt confused, he knew had lost his temper. Regret erupted in his core, washing over him like hot lava. But this was the same elf he had seen being tossed around by an oversized Orc and she still had the strength to beat it. Something was not right. Something else was wrong.

Unfastening her smock, he took in a sharp breath. She was so thin. Her skin had a faint bluish cast and small bruises decorated her body. He stripped her down to her undergarments examining every inch of exposed skin. Her wrists had large brown and yellow cuffs where he had grabbed them.

A purple stain went down her back from where he had thrown her against the wall and he swore he could see it spreading as he stared in disbelief. He had seen this before, after his Father had decided to move his people north and they were wandering without a home. It was a condition caused by not getting the essential nutrients elves needed to survive.

“Elorean!” Aleial burst into the room racing to her friend’s bedside. Seeing her exposed body, Aleial dropped her bag and gasped. So focused she was on Elorean, she failed to recognize the King sitting in front of her. 

Grabbing her bag, she dumped all of its contents onto the floor, scattering them about until her hand landed on the one she wanted. She immediately began laying hands on Elorean and applying salves and oils. 

Thranduil stepped back and watched her work. After several moments, Elorean began to stir. “I will need a tea of periwinkle and some witch hazel!” Aleial ordered, turning to Thranduil. Her eyes grew wide as saucers when she realized she had been in the room with the King and had just given him a command. Her mouth fell open. Thranduil did not seem to notice her breach of protocol and was relaying her request to his attendant before she had a chance to utter a word.

As he came back to Elorean’s bedside Aleial dropped to one knee, “Forgive me My King, I did not know it was you.” Thranduil nodded at her but quickly returned his focus to Elorean who was gradually coming to. Aleial took a coverlet from the end of the King’s bed and draped over the skeletal elf before her. 

The fact that she was in the presence of royalty did nothing to curtail Aleial’s need to constantly share whatever thoughts crossed her mind. “I have been trying to sneak her some food since her appetite has returned, but Madam Gwinithiel has been watching me like a hawk!” Aleial said to the King. Not waiting for him to respond she continued. “She is so mad at Elorean. It seems she plans to either work her to death or starve her to death, whatever comes first.” Aleial chattered on as she drew some invisible symbol in the air over Elorean’s body. 

The smoldering magma that had been coursing through Thranduil’s veins began to harden. “What?” he said to Aleial. 

“Yes, it is true. She is fuming over Elorean causing trouble for her with you. She fears it will get in the way of Callistia becoming the Queen of Mirkwood,” she rambled on. “Everyone knows that Callistia will be Queen, she is the fairest elf in middle earth and she has status. And…..,” she added emphatically , “Callistia always gets what she wants.” 

“Not this time!” Thranduil exclaimed, his voice fire, his eyes ice. 

“She will need to rest My Lord,” Aleial said to the King, “And she will need to eat regularly if she is to regain her strength, “she said worriedly. That was much easier said than done, given Madam Gwinithiel’s current state of mind.

“Perhaps you could do something, My Lord, to see that Madam Gwinithiel allows Elorean to eat even if she has given her too much work to make it back by proper meal time?” Aleial asked sheepishly.

“That will not be necessary.” Thranduil said. His demeanor was so intimidating, Aleial thought him angry with her request. “Forgive me my Lord, I just…..” 

“Both of you will be dining here. You will be staying with me,“ he announced before leaving the room. He called upon Feren to go to the healer’s quarters and ordered all of Elorean and Aleial’s personal items to be brought his palace. "You may also tell Lady Gwinithiel that I expect her daughter to arrive at the prison before sunrise. There is a Dwarf that requires her attention."

Feren bowed, a bit surprised that the King was sending him on a nonmilitary task. He set out hastily to comply with his King’s order, assuming it must a matter of some importance if the King was sending him. Stranger things had happened before, he reasoned.

Thranduil went to see to directing his staff to prepare rooms for Elorean and Aleial, giving very specific instructions for meals and snacks to be served to them on a strict time schedule. Nothing was to arrive even one minute late. 

He handpicked certain leaves and floral menu items he knew had the nutrition Elorean needed to be incorporated into every meal along with tempting hors d'oeuvre’s he hoped would stimulate her appetite.

When he had finished, he returned to his bed chamber. Elorean was pushed to the side of his bed and Aleial was sprawled next to her taking up most of the space. Thranduil disrobed and put on a comfortable lounging suit. He skillfully rolled Aleial to one side of his bed without waking her and crawled in between them. He wrapped his arms around Elorean. It was unusual for elves to sleep as deeply as the two females in his bed. He wondered what the matriarch of the healer’s had done to drive both of them to such exhaustion. 

During the night, Elorean cried in her sleep several times and jerked as if she were in the throes of a violent nightmare. Each time Thranduil drew her into him and whispered soothingly in elvish until she calmed. 

Opening his eyes as morning broke, he was surprised to find he himself had fallen into a slumber. He grinned as he realized he was sandwiched between the two she elves. Aleial had her arm and leg thrown over him and was gently snoring in his ear. Elorean was resting peacefully in his embrace.

Just as he had ordered, a servant entered the King’s bed chamber with a cart of freshly prepared foods. “My Lord, breakfast is served,” the elf in the white chef’s jacket said with a look of amusement, seeing the King in between two sleeping beauties. 

Aleial awoke and rubbed her eyes. Seeing the food spread on the cart, she clapped her hands. “Breakfast in bed!” she squealed as Elorean began to stir. Thranduil still had his arms around her and he kissed her neck warmly before rising and leaving the room. He did not want to frighten Elorean with his presence this morning, he wanted her to eat.


	14. Chapter 14

Elorean gradually awoke to the scent of fresh citrus and strawberries. Aleial was lounging on Thranduil’s King sized bed beside her, taking a generous bite of a jam filled crepe. “Elorean!” she said, the sound muffled by her mouthful. Setting her plate down on the white linens, she grasped Elorean’s hand “You scared me!” she said, “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine Aleial.” Elorean stretched, giving her standard answer.

“Yeah, I know,” Aleial said empathetically. “But, how are you, really?”

“Oh no!” Elorean exclaimed suddenly looking around the room in realization. “How long have I been out?” 

“All night, “ Aleial said, tilting her head quizzically.

“Leonin!” Elorean cried, jumping out of bed. 

Looking around, she saw a neatly stacked pile of clean clothing. She picked it up and grimaced. It was far fancier than anything she ever wore and she did not think she could even figure out how to put it on. Dropping it, she opted for her basic black smock, still draped over the back of the sitting chair from the night before.

“Elorean, you have to eat!” Aleial said. “Where are you going?” 

“To the prison,” Elorean replied disregarding the food cart as she passed.

“Wait!” Aleial said grabbing a strawberry and wrapping a croissant in a napkin, “Take this,” she said handing the food to Elorean. “He is going to be really mad you know.” Aleial cautioned. 

Ignoring her friend’s warning, Elorean stuffed the croissant into her pocket and chewed on the giant strawberry as she headed for the prison. 

The unenthusiastic guard opened Leonin’s door at her request, staring hungrily at her half eaten strawberry. She handed it to him and he walked away, finishing it one bite. 

“Leonin!” Elorean rushed to the old Dwarf’s side. He was so frail he could barely turn his head towards her. “I am here Leonin. I am here now,” she said, and instantly began to work. The long night’s rest had restored some of her vitality, though she still felt very weak. Within the hour, she sensed she was making progress. Leonin’s body was starting to rally. 

Thranduil sat on his throne, the antlers of a mammoth, ancient elk stretched out behind him. Wearing a crown of oak branches, rowan berries and late summer leaves, he nodded to his attendant indicating he was ready to give an audience to the woman waiting outside the stone door. Callistia entered the room dressed in her finest, shimmering, silver gown with an unusually tight bodice that pushed her plunging neckline forward. She wore a steel filigreed circlet over her carefully braided white, blond hair. Her eyes were as blue as Thranduil’s, and today, they were as ice cold as his. 

Bowing, and turning her head to him high on his perch, Callistia asked sharply “Have I displeased you My Lord?”

Thranduil looked down on her, his expression cold and unreadable. “I have given you a task to do Callistia. See that the Dwarf receives proper care.” 

“But my King,” Callistia said tearfully, opting to try a different demeanor, “That is a lowly task given to those less capable than I,” she said, batting her eyelashes. 

“And yet you and your Mother see fit to send your most talented healer to the barn and to the prison. Why is that Callistia?”

“Elorean!” she spat out the name and made a face, as if she had bitten into a sour grape. “She is incorrigible My Lord. She is a constant thorn in Mother’s side, always running off on her own and playing hero,” Callistia complained. “She sneaks out into the forest and finds plants that we do not use and mixes them in our potions. She steals food too!” Callistia said looking pleased with herself. 

Thranduil stood and gracefully made his descent down the stairs of his throne. The long tapestry of his high collared, tailored jacket trailed behind him. He bent into her, coming close enough to Callistia’s face that their noses almost touched. “I will see to Elorean now” he said with a smirk. “You will see to the Dwarf and then return to your Mother!” he bellowed, leaving her standing in the great room all alone. Callistia stomped her foot and growled before heading to the prison. 

Elorean lifted the old Dwarf’s head and pressed a dented, metal tin to his parched lips giving him a sip of water. Propping him up, she smiled. “I brought you a special treat Leonin,” she said, digging the slightly squashed croissant out of her pocket. 

“Oohhhh!” Leonin exclaimed when he saw the flaky pastry. “Thank you my dear!” he said, closing his eyes and relishing in his first bite. 

“Leonin, I must go and gather some supplies. I will return to you this afternoon,” she said rubbing her hand across his arm.

“Aye Lassie,” he said “I appreciate your administrations, but you look as though you need some rest. Don’t you worry for me. You go on home and get yourself a good meal and a nap,” he said, patting her on the hand.

“I will see you soon,” Elorean smiled, as she placed a kiss on her patient’s forehead and exited his cell. She cringed as the guard slammed the door behind her and the lock clicked. The prison halls were damp and dark and she wished she could take Leonin outside with her. The fresh air and sunlight would do him good.

Slipping out of the heavy stone doors of the King’s halls, Elorean hunched herself, trying to appear shorter and less conspicuous. She headed for the outskirts of the city where she could make her escape into the forest. She needed to gather some yarrow and goldenseal to treat the ailing Dwarf. 

Madam Gwinithiel did not allow such exotic herbal combinations, but Elorean knew this particular mixture was Leonin’s best chance at survival. Calculating the correct dosage in her mind, Elorean was so wrapped up her thoughts she failed to notice the beautiful, blond elf standing in the shadowed corridor watching her leave. 

Thranduil returned to his chamber to confirm that Elorean had eaten. He found Aleial still reclining on his bed, hand on her stomach. His eyes explored the chamber trying to locate Elorean. “Where is she?” he said, alarmed upon not finding her.

“I tried to stop her My Lord,” Aleial insisted, not wanting invoke his wrath. “She said she had to go see a patient in the prison,” she muttered as she slipped off the bed and backed slowly away from him.

Thranduil cursed in elvish and stormed out of the room. Aleial sighed with relief as he left. She ambled over to the dinning cart and began picking at some of the leftovers. 

Urgently, he began making his way to the prison hall, bypassing a myriad of bowing elves as he passed. Upon entering, he discovered the watchman squatting on a chair, his attention fixated on the cell in the block in front of him. Hearing Thranduil approach, the guard he lazily turned his head. Recognizing the King, he jumped to his feet, keys clanging to the floor. “My Lord Thranduil, we were not expecting you, “ the guard blurted, dropping to his knee. 

“Where is she?” Thranduil demanded. Rising, the guard pointed to the cell he had been leering into. Stepping in to view through the bars of the unlocked door, Thranduil saw Callistia bent over a poxed, old Dwarf. Her full, white breasts spilled from her gown. The guard was staring into the cell again, his confounded gaze fixed on Callistia's chest.

“Where is Elorean ?” Thranduil demanded.

“She left,” Callistia said without looking up.

“What do you mean, she left? Where did she go?” he said impatiently.

“I do not know My Lord,” Callistia answered. “You said you would be seeing to her now.” She looked up at him and blinked innocently. 

“She said she was going for supplies,” the aged Dwarf offered in a raspy voice. Thranduil noted the concern in his eyes. “She is mighty frail, that one,” the Dwarf croaked. “I told her to go home and rest.”

Thranduil gave the Dwarf an appreciative, but slight nod and turned without any further acknowledgement of Callistia. She fumed as the old Dwarf said “Looks like your King is in love.” 

Thranduil reached the bedchamber in record time. Barging through the door he found Aleial standing half naked with a wet cloth at the basin. Her belly protruded slightly from the enormous breakfast she had eaten. She gasped and covered her breasts with her arms.

Thranduil acted as if he did not notice and crossed the room. “She went for supplies,” he said. “Where would she go to for supplies?” he pushed.  
Aleial’s cheeks turned bright red. “Um, the infirmary at the healer’s quarters, I guess?” She sounded unsure. 

Thranduil spun and was exiting the room. “Wait” Aleial called, a rosy nipple peeking out from between he fingers. Taking a step towards the King she said “The forest! Elorean gets her supplies from the forest!” she said with dread.

Thranduil’s eyes widened and then he was gone. Aleial looked down and exhaled. Seeing a portion of her breast uncovered she realized she had just accidentally given the King a peep show. Plopping back on the bed she put her arm over her eyes and groaned. She felt sick to her stomach. 

Thranduil rushed to assemble a search party of his best trackers. Mounting their horses, they rode for the forest at breakneck speed. There had been signs that an Orc pack had crossed their borders more than once during the past week and they could never be certain when a new infestation of spiders would emerge. 

Trying to tamper his growing sense of apprehension, Thranduil told himself that she had not been gone long and that he would find her quickly. When he did, he intended to chain her to the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

Elorean was relieved to have made it to the forest without being detected. She followed her regular path to where the goldenseal plant grew freely. She shivered, but more often than not, she was cold of late. A chill normally would alert her to some looming threat, but she had become accustomed to feeling cold and dismissed it. 

Her heart fell at finding so few plants in usable condition. It was late summer and normally they would still be thriving. Instead, the leaves appeared browned at the edges and limp. It took her longer than she had hoped to collect enough healthy greens to treat her patient. She worried that there were others who she had not yet seen that would need a greater yield than she had gathered. 

Moving deeper into the forest, she began her search for the flowering, white yarrow plant she required. It was unusually quiet, she thought. The familiar sounds of insects buzzing and birds calling were absent. Traveling further out than she had ever been, she kept her mind focused on Leonin and the medicinal plants she knew would heal him. This was her mission, she told herself.

Her apprehension began to grow as she realized the forest had become deathly silent. Nothing moved. There was no sound save for a slight wind blowing though the eaves. Then she heard it. A great disturbance blustered around her. Branches snapped, leaves rustled and she could smell their breath. Orcs!

Elorean drew her sword as they burst from the trees all around her. She fought in a circular motion, favoring her strong side. She cut down six of them before an Orc’s blade found its mark and sliced into her left hip. Wounded, she kept fighting, but there were at least thirty of them. Missing her with its blade, an Orc was able to catch her with a kick, clipping her behind her left knee and sending her to the ground. 

As her face hit the dirt, she saw the Orc’s decapitated head roll in front of her, its dead eyes staring into hers. Rising up onto her elbow, she saw Thranduil standing in front of her, both arms wielding swords, cutting down one Orc after another. Before she could stand, he had dispatched of every beast that had attacked her. Black blood pooled around her. 

As he lifted her off the ground, she saw Thranduil’s soldiers finishing off a few straggling Orc’s. His face was stone cold as he applied pressure to her bleeding left hip. He lifted her effortlessly onto his horse and buckled her in with his arm, giving the command for the return home. His grip on her never loosened until they reached the great halls of the woodland realm.

Plopping her feet on the ground he marched her into the underground palace, carrying most of her weight. He said nothing. Aleial was waiting for them by the pool. Thranduil began stripping her clothes off and Elorean began to fight him. 

“You are covered in Orc filth!” he shouted. “Your wounds must be sterilized!”

Aleial bravely rushed to her friend’s side. “I will wash her My Lord,” she stammered, dragging Elorean to the pool. 

Elorean objected as Aleial tried to pull her clothes off. “Not in front of him!” she asserted.

“You will not be leaving my sight! Thranduil declared, daring her to challenge him.

Aleial coaxed Elorean to the poolside where she quickly undressed her and pushed her into the water, her back turned to the King.

Aleial gently ran the sponge over Elorean’s thin, bruised frame. Thranduil watched as she made long, even strokes washing the black Orc gunk away, kissing Elorean on the head and lifting her breasts to wash underneath. Aleial stood her up and parted Elorean’s legs, running the sponge through, with one arm wrapped around her waist to steady her. Blood still dripped from the cut on Elorean’s left hip.

Thranduil picked up a towel and motioned to Aleial. She turned Elorean around, but stepped in front of her as they walked to the King. Taking the towel, Aleial covered her friend before moving out of the way and handing Elorean over to her waiting master. 

Putting his arm around her, Thranduil unceremoniously marched Elorean to his bed chamber. She spun around on him, “Let me go! I must see to my patients!” she said, a violent storm brewing in her oceanic eyes. 

Thranduil smirked and grabbed her by the arm. “You are not going anywhere!” he said forcefully.

Elorean yanked herself away and went for the pile of clothing still lying on the dresser. “I will see to my patients whether you like it or not!” she said defiantly. 

“You will not disobey me again Elorean!” he said crossing the room and knocking the clothing out of her hand. Elorean clutched at the towel covering her. 

“If you are going to behave like a rebellious child, I will treat you like one,” Thranduil said, jerking her to him. In one seamless motion, he pulled the towel from her, sat on the edge of the bed, and threw her over his knee.

“The only other one I have had to do this too was Legolas! When you learn how to behave I will teach you to fight like him too!” Thranduil said as he brought down his open palm on her bare buttucks.

Elorean cried out, furious, and began to struggle. Thranduil wrapped her hair around his hand, pulling her head back and holding her steady. He spanked her hard. 

When his frustration was spent, he began to notice the blistering handprints on her bottom. Realizing she had stopped struggling and was heaving in sobs, he stopped abruptly. Turning her over, he pulled her to him.

“Elora. Elora” he said. She smelled of tears, He began kissing her face, she tasted of the ocean. He stifled a groan. He wanted to taste her everywhere. “Do not cry myrialor,” he whispered as he covered her with his lips, drinking the salty wetness from her cheeks. 

Lifting her, he laid her head on the pillow at the top of his bed. He kissed her fully, sucking gently on her bottom lip. His hands trailed over her thin frame, feeling her bones. He began whispering, his voice falling like poetry over her bared flesh. The sobbing ceased and her body began to rise to his touch. His ringed fingers ventured over her collar bones and to her breasts. Her nipples tightened against his touch and he could feel the electricity sparking from within her.

Trailing down her torso, his fingers grazed her navel and she shuddered. He did not stop. He parted her and touched her budding core. She grasped his shirt in her fist as he stroked and circled her. His fingers dipped. She was as soft as silk and so wet. His breath caught in his throat. As he slipped a finger inside her she cooed, her hips lunging to meet him. 

Thranduil was surprised at the resistance his probing finger met. She was tight, untouched. He did not expect this as even physical healers often delved into the art of sexual rehabilitation. 

He hesitated and began moving slower. He needed to take his time with her. He was an elf. He was patient. He could wait.


	16. Chapter 16

Thranduil was fondling her with his lips and touching her in deep places, awaking some force she did not know. Elorean felt as if she were flying. He murmured erotic elvish phrases in her ear, words she had never heard uttered before, words that made her blush down to her toes. He smelled of the dark forest, where secret things grew and she felt intoxicated. 

As swiftly as he began, he ceased. Enfolding her into his arms, he kissed her forehead. Elorean protested, seeking out his lips with hers and pulling his fingers back down to her private place. Thranduil locked both of her wrists in one hand and held them against his chest. “Shhhhh….Shhhhh,” he whispered. 

Elorean squirmed, but he kept her tightly bound, rocking her gently until she fell into a fitful slumber. She dreamed she was soaring over the mountains like an eagle next to her brother, Landinir. She was so happy to see him again. Suddenly, she was pierced by an arrow. She felt herself whirling to the ground. Landing on her bottom. A burning pain shot through her. Before she could scream, Orcs descended upon her, cutting her side with their gnashing teeth.

“Elora, Elora,” his thick, hushed voice pulled her from her nightmare. “I am here,” he said encircling her in his embrace. “I have you myrialor, I have you.” Elorean drifted back into the void and did not dream for the rest of the night.

Aleial entered the bedchamber unannounced. Carrying a clean, sea foam, green gown for Elorean, she stopped just inside the doorway. The King was buttoning his trousers, his bare pectoral muscles flexed as he moved. He turned to Aleial and her eyes traveled to his bulging groin. “Would you like me to take of that for you My Lord?” she offered. 

Thranduil tilted his head at her, intrigued that she was trained in the practice of the sexual healing arts, yet Elorean was not. As healers, it was acceptable to provide this type of administration. Most who practiced, specialized specifically in this area though, treating widows and widowers and those afflicted by dark moods and melancholy. “That will not be necessary,” he said.

Aleial nodded and moved out of the doorway to allow the food cart to be wheeled. Thranduil slipped his arms through a white, tailored shirt. He heard the rustling of sheets and turned to see Elorean awakening. Taking an apple off the cart, he went and sat on the bed next to her. 

He bit into the flesh of the deep red fruit and pulled a piece off. Trailing his fingers over her pink lips, still slightly swollen from his penetrating kisses the night before, his eye met hers. They were the color of a calm lake this morning, a ripple passed over them when he smiled at her. Taking the piece of apple, he fed it to her. “Eat Elorean. Eat,” he said, the back of his hand brushing her cheek. 

Thranduil’s attendant came into the room holding his jacket. He held it up while the King slipped his arms though and adjusted the collar. Opting not to wear a robe, Thranduil left the room and headed to his study, dismissing his attendant. He had several documents of importance to review and a correspondence to complete.

Sitting behind the carved, wooden desk with a stack of parchment in front of him, Thranduil found it difficult to concentrate. His mind kept wandering back to the night before and the sounds she made when he touched her. He thought of the scent of her skin, like an ocean breeze and the way her nipples became rigid under his tongue. Pushing the chair away from the desk, he stood and paced across the floor.

“My Lord,” Thranduil turned to see a healer coming into the room. He wore dark green leggings and a velvet vest bearing the insignia Gwinithiel’s staff. He carried with him an envelope. Going down on his knees in front of his King he held up the letter. “I have a communication from Madam Gwinithiel for you My King,” he said.

Thranduil took the envelope and a whiff of lavender drifted up from the embossed paper. The starry blue eyed healer, still on his knees, pulled his long, blond hair back to the nape of his neck. Reaching forward he placed his hands on Thranduil’s protruding trousers and stroked him firmly. “Would you like me to take care of that for you My Lord?” he asked. 

Thranduil sucked in a puff of air at the healer's touch and he closed his eyes. Exhaling he looked down to him, “That will not be necessary,” he said for the second time this morning. There was only one healer who could make this aching stop and she was probably still lying naked in his bed.

“Yes My Lord,” the healer said withdrawing his hand. “Shall I take my leave Lord Thranduil?” he asked. “Yes, the King replied absentmindedly. Tossing the letter on his desk without giving it another thought, he set back to his bed chamber.

Aleial dressed Elorean in the sea foam gown. A sliver belt rested on her hip bones and dipped like a triangle below her navel. The neckline was scooped, leaving both her collar bones bare, but at least it completely covered her breasts, Elorean thought. 

Aleial insisted on doing Elorean’s hair, “You will look ridiculous in that dress with your hair all over the place!” she chided. Combing, yanking and pulling, Aleial worked for what seemed like an hour and Elorean had tears in her eyes. 

“Ta dah!” Aleial exclaimed, pulling Elorean in front of the mirror. “You are still too thin, “ she said admiring her work and poofing the material of the dress out above the belt to make Elorean’s silhouette look fuller. “You have to eat more,” she said, taking a scone from the cart and forcing Elorean to take a bite. They both started laughing. Elorean felt so silly being dressed this way. 

“I look creepy, like a mermaid,” she said and they both giggled, collapsing on the mattress.

Thranduil walked in to find the pair rolling around on his unmade bed laughing like children. He cleared his throat and they stood up, attempting to suppress their humor. Elorean was trying to adjust her gown while brushing off crumbs from the scone, not quite understanding the mechanics of having so much fabric swirling around her legs. 

Thranduil stilled, his eyes grew wide as he took her in. Her hair was brushed to a brilliant shine. It was braided and clasped with a silver barrett at the back of her head. Loose tendrils of silver blond framed her face. Her lips were puffy and pink, her cheeks slightly flushed. But it was her eyes that captured him. With her hair pulled away they were magnificent. Shaped like perfect almonds, they were wide and fringed by feathery dark lashes. Against the sea foam green of her gown, they appeared teal, like an exotic paradise. 

He had never heard her laugh before and the sound that fell on ears was a like melody played on the strings of his heart. He felt the ache growing in his loins again.

Taking her by the hand, he led her out of the room and down a back corridor. He was quiet and Elorean wondered if he was still angry. “My Lord?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Thranduil answered slipping his arm around her waist.

“Does the Dwarf live?” 

“He does. He is being cared for Elorean. You need not worry yourself for him again.“ Thranduil said.

“I want to see him,” Elorean implored, looking into his eyes and blinking.

He felt the material of his pants tightening around him again. “No Elorean. You are not strong enough to be spending your energy on such an ill patient.” 

“Thranduil, I must see him. Please,” she stopped and turned to him.

“No, Elorean!” he said roughly. He faced her forward and dragged her lagging feet alongside him. It was the first time she had ever said his name and he wanted her to say it again. 

Pausing at a steep, stone stairway, he steered her in front of him and followed her up. He had the urge to lift her skirt and check her bottom, remembering the welts of his handprints on her smooth white derriere the night before. The thought now causing his pants to become uncomfortably constricting. 

They reached the landing and Thranduil ushered her through a heavy stone door into a clearing. They were standing on a terrace carved into the side of the mountain. The morning sun felt warm against her skin and Elorean took in a deep breath of the fresh air. “Please let me go to him Thranduil,” she said again, looking at him beseechingly.

Taking her wrist, he yanked her to a corner and pulled a finely forged sword from a decorated pewter vase. Handing it to her he said, “You have other work to do today myrialor.” With that, he chose a sword for himself, whirled it twice, and took a step back from her.

Elorean was furious. She measured him up and gauged her surroundings. She knew he would come at her left side so she steeled herself to protect it. Thranduil inched in deliberately, testing her, carefully watching every move she made. 

Seeing her dip and completely expose her left flank he yelled “No!” sending her weapon clattering to the ground. He marched behind her and put his sword in her hands. He moved her, teaching her the proper contrapostura , adjusting her stance to guard her left side from the tip her opponent’s blade. Picking her sword up and handing it to her, her stepped back again.

He charged her and briskly disarmed her from the left. “Again!” he ordered. She bent and picked up her sword only to have the exact same scene repeat itself four times. 

“Forte” he yelled at her, “Defend your line! ” before deftly knocking her blade out of her hands again. “No!” he barked.

Kicking her sword so it skidded to his feet she screamed, “Why do you not try fighting in a gown My Lord!” Her breasts heaved up and down with each breath. “I cannot move without my legs becoming entangled! “ She was still screaming. 

Stepping over her sword, Thranduil closed the distance between them. Lifting his blade to her chest, he sliced through the fabric of her gown in one flowing motion. The dress cascaded down her body and spilled at her feet like foaming wave.


	17. Chapter 17

Elorean froze in fear when Thranduil put the tip of his sword to her neck. His blade never touched her skin as he slashed through her gown, laying her bare, save for a pair of thin, transparent bloomers. Her arms instinctively rose to shield her breasts. 

Thranduil was upon her, the edges of his lips curved slightly upwards. Seizing both of her arms in his grip, he forced them to her sides and warned “Do not ever cover yourself from me Elorean.”

Elorean swallowed hard. Her bottom lip quivered. Thranduil took it into his mouth, sucking gently. 

Groaning, he lifted her and carried her to a high boulder and propped her against the mountain wall. Leaning back, his eyes delved into hers. He reached down and unfastened his trousers, pushing them down to his knees. 

Holding her eyes with his, he wrapped her palm around his engorged manhood. Her sharp intake of air made him throb. Directing her fingers, he tightened her fist around him. He began moving her hand steadily. Tipping her chin to him, his lips engulfed hers and he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

With one hand teaching her how to pleasure him, the other rose and pinched an inflamed nipple between his fingertips. She whimpered. 

Her loose hand tentatively skimmed his neck. He clasped the hand he held in his tighter, moving her faster, squeezing her fist inside of his. Her free fingers slinked upwards and traced his ear to its point. 

A low rumble began deep in his solar plexus and he moaned in pleasure as he ejaculated, her hand still firmly controlled by his own. His hot semen hit her chest in spurts, dripping between her erect nipples. 

Thranduil dropped to his knees in front of her. She stared at him, her eyes filed with apprehension and longing. 

Bending into her, he placed the tip of his tongue above her naval. Licking, he caught the thick, white liquid and moved upwards. Parting her lips with his fingers he slid his full tongue into her month and fed her his seed. Tilting her head back, he sealed her mouth with his until she swallowed. 

“You will learn to lust for the taste of me Elorean,” he said, backing away from her. Taking off his jacket, he put it on her. Retrieving her gown, he wrapped it around her waist, tying it in a misshapen knot. He lifted her and carried her back to his chambers. 

Depositing her on his bed, he went to the waiting food cart and prepared her a plate. Running his fingers though her now disheveled hair he kissed her forehead. “Eat Elorean,” he said. Then he turned and left.

Heading to his study, Thranduil took in a deep breath. He had much work to do. Perhaps now he could get it done. 

Sitting on the edge of the King’s carefully made bed, Elorean took a deep breath and a tear slipped from her eye. Shoring herself up, she thought of Leoinin. She had work to do. Finding her laundered black leggings and smock, she put them on, her hands shaking. Straightened her shoulders, she checked to see that the coast was clear. Staying close to the wall, she headed for the prison. 

Thranduil picked up the letter from Gwinithiel with annoyance. He had enough matters to attend to and he was anxious to return to Elorean. Carelessly ripping the letter along with envelope he read her swooping calligraphy;

My Lord Thranduil,  
It has come to my attention that a member of my staff is interfering with Callistia’s healing services to her King. Elorean  
has always been a handful, but she has disintegrated since her brother fell at Erebor. Please kindly return her to me and  
I will see to her rehabilitation. Her family’s long history of dedication to the crown should not be taken lightly. She is a talented  
healer and I am sure I can find a place for her to thrive despite her disabilities.  
In Your Service,  
Gwinithiel

Thranduil ripped the letter in two and discarded it. Turning to the stack of parchment in front of him, he immersed himself in the matters at hand. The burdens of his people weighed heavily upon him and he wanted nothing more than to fulfill his duties and return to the elf in his chambers. Gwinithiel’s dramatics could wait for another day.

Elorean found Leonin in good spirits, though still in the throes of the pox. He was delighted to see her and she was glad that she had thought to retrieve a chocolate from the cart for him. He ate it with gusto. 

Armed with only the goldenseal, Elorean wished she had found the yarrow she needed. Leonin would never recover locked in this cell. She had to get him out of here. It would not be hard. The prison guard was given his assignment because he was not fit for larger responsibilities. 

Gwinithiel paced in the kitchen. She had expected an immediate response from the King, but he had disappointed her. Her messenger had returned without a reply and the only information he had to offer was limited to the King’s state of sexual arousal. This did not bode well, especially since Thranduil had refused aid from the healer she sent. He was among the most attractive of her staff and immensely talented in the arts of sexual healing. Something had to be done and she began to hatch a plan.

Finishing his work, Thranduil felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He was eager to return to Elorean’s side. Stopping at the servant’s quarters, he ordered a specialty dinner spread to be delivered to his room. He thought to order a masseuse and then decided he would rather be the one putting his hands on Elorean himself.

Arriving at his chambers, he found them empty. He called out her name, but there was no reply. Interrogating his staff, his heart dropped, she had vanished without notice. He cursed himself for not putting a guard on her. 

Finding Aleial, he demanded to know Elorean’s whereabouts. 

“She is with you my Lord.” Aleial insisted.

Thranduil felt a lump growing in his throat. Racing to the prison, he went straight to the old Dwarf’s cell. He found it empty.


	18. Chapter 18

It was easy enough to steal Leonin away from the prisoner’s cell block. The guard was not even around when Elorean smuggled him through the doors. Getting him out of Mirkwood, that was an entirely different situation. She needed a horse. The Dwarf was too weak to travel on foot.

Remembering the back corridor Thranduil had taken her down, she crept close to the walls with the Dwarf in tow until she found an exit. Hiding Leonin in a barrel, she promised to return with all due haste. 

Moving like a cat in the shadows, Elorean made her way to the stables to fetch Landinir’s horse. She hoped the animal had healed enough to carry out the task at hand. Otherwise, she would have to take Thranduil’s horse. 

She needed to pass through the gate before the King noticed her absence. Or perhaps he would not notice, she thought ruefully. He had, after all, used her to pleasure himself, discarded her on his bed and walked away without so much as a goodbye. It was clear she meant nothing to him. She could still taste him and the thought of him caused a burning sensation tor rise within her.

Reaching the stables, she went directly to her brother’s horse. “Navar,” she said softly, rubbing his nose. Elorean could see the horse had mended well, but not well enough to make the hard journey to the Dwarf’s people in the Lonely Mountain. 

Sighing, she turned and walked to the largest stall in the building. The stallion loomed over her. He stood 20 hands tall. Eyeing her suspiciously, he sniffed the air and his nostrils flared. Recognizing her scent, he lowered his head but his eyes still looked unsure. 

“Come on big guy,” Elorean said, wooing him out of the stable. Having no time for tack or a saddle, Elorean mounted the beast. Keeping to the outskirts of the village, she rode hard. Thranduil’s horse was like lightning. 

She was relieved to find Leonin right where she had stashed him. He stood atop the barrel, but she still had to give him a boost for him to reach the horse’s back. Grabbing onto its silky black mane, Elorean launched herself behind the Dwarf and kicked the horse into action. Time was of the essence. She had to get Leonin out of Mirkwood before her plan was discovered.

With any luck, Luthaniel would be at his post at the gate. She knew she would be able to talk her way through any objections if her brother’s best friend was indeed the guard on duty. She began concocting a tale in her mind that would convince Luthaniel she was leaving with the King’s permission.

Thranduil knew that with the burden of the infimed Dwarf with her, Elorean could not have gotten very far. Seething, he left the underground fortress. As he stepped into the light, he saw his stallion running full tilt alongside the western wall. Elorean was jockeying the animal with the Dwarf sitting in front of her. She was headed straight for the gate. 

Thranduil ground his teeth trying to leash in his anger. He whistled. The racing stallion slowed to a lope, turned, and obediently went towards his Master’s call.


	19. Chapter 19

Thranduil’s steed brought Elorean straight to him, no matter how hard she tried to redirect the beast. His eyes fixated on her as she approached. They were like daggers, his brows low and menacing. Elorean’s heart was pounding in her chest.

Ignoring the Dwarf, Thranduil grabbed Elorean’s ankle and yanked her from her mount, sending her sprawling to the ground in front of him. 

Feren had followed the King outdoors and Thranduil ordered him to take care of the horse and reclaim the prisoner, never once taking his eyes of Elorean. 

He came for her. Elorean grimaced and tried to rise to her feet. He put his boot on her chest and thrust her back down. Holding her captive under his weight, he said with frightening calm “That, my dear, was treason.” 

She struggled against him. He did not budge. When she quieted, he released her. Bending over, he grasped the front of her smock. Lifting her with one hand, he threw her over his shoulder and took her back into his halls.

In deadly silence, he entered his bed chamber. The expansive food cart he had ordered for her that evening was waiting. With one swipe, he sent the carefully prepared meal shattering to the floor. He dropped Elorean on the cart hard. 

“I would rather be guilty of treason than murder My Lord!” she said defiantly, daring to look at him.

Clenching his jaw, Thranduil tried to check himself. “Be grateful I caught you then,” he said in a carefully guarded tone. “Had you succeeded in returning the Dwarf to his people, many more would have died. The pox would have spread like flames through the Dwarves Elorean. It is a plague for them, they are peculiarly susceptible. I have watched them die in droves from its curse in Ages past.”

Elorean blinked. He grabbed her by her hair, holding her face close to his. “Did I not tell you the Dwarf was being cared for?” he demanded. Elorean’s tongue felt numb in her mouth and she could not find her voice. He threw her to the floor. 

Thranduil took a step back. He could smell her fear. “When I ask you a question you will answer me! Do you not trust my word Elorean?” 

“Why should I trust you?” she screamed, rising to her full stature. “You use me as your Naditu and leave me alone in your bed!”

“Is that what this is about Elorean? I am your King, I will use you in any way I wish!” he bellowed. 

Gripping the front of her smock with both hands, he ripped it off of her displaying her breasts.

Depositing her on his bed, Thranduil loomed over her. Reaching for his belt, he pulled it from his pants with a swoosh. Elorean visibly shuddered. Wrapping the leather in his hand, he brought it down across her nipples with a soft crack. Elorean sobbed. She began flailing against him. He cinched her wrists in the belt, pulled them above her head and anchored her to the bedframe. 

Removing both of her boots at the same time, he went for the waist of her leggings. In one fell swoop, he stripped them from her along with her undergarment. Straddling her, he leaned over and kissed her forcefully, imprisoning her beneath him.. 

Sinking, he nipped her neck, marking her, and she gasped. He tweaked her nipples and grazed them with his teeth before biting down. She recoiled and moaned. His lips rambled over the chafed welts left by his belt. Their wetness stung. Spreading her legs with his, he continued his descent. 

Parting her with his fingers his tongue danced over her pulsating center. Her hips surged to meet him. His fingers masterfully probed every inch of her while his mouth latched around her and suckled.

Thranduil could hear the blood coursing through her veins as he drank in her rippling clit. Her breath came in short pants. He felt her building under his lips. She writhed and whimpered. 

He forced her higher, winding her to the top of the peak, but he would not allow her to reach the summit. He let go of her abruptly. She cried out in anguish.

Advancing to his knees, Thranduil unlatched his trousers and pulled out his leaking cock. Leaning over her, he pried her mouth open. Driving himself into her open lips, he pounded her. He placed his hand on her forehead and tilted her head back. Bearing down, he forced her to take more of him. Gaining momentum, he climaxed in a sharp, bitter explosion.

As he pulled out she gagged. Twisting her body over the side of the bed she violently heaved.

Thranduil pulled his clothes back on and stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him. His attendant stood nervously in waiting. “Clean her up and lock her in a cell,” he said, his voice as cold as the stone walls surrounding them.


	20. Chapter 20

Elorean lay on the soiled cot in her cell that reeked of urine and sweat. A bended, tin plate of cold food sat in the center of her dark, meager lodgings. Her throat was too sore to swallow and her stomach lurched at the mere thought of eating. She did not rest. The sounds of other inmates coughing and snoring crawled up the walls that confined her. 

In the morning, a bowl of porridge was slid across the floor. The scraping noise grated along her nerves as she lay motionless. It sat untouched and congealed into a pasty, inedible substance. She felt nothing, save for the hot tears on her face that seemed to come and go at their own will.

On the second afternoon, she could hear Luthaniel arguing with the guard, insisting on seeing her. Adamantly refusing, the sentry cited the King’s orders that she be denied all visitors. Luthaniel gave him a sand pear, Elorean's favorite fruit, requesting that it be passed to her. When he was gone, Elorean heard the guard chewing on the crisp treat. 

On the third morning, Callistia appeared at the door of her cell. Wearing an elaborate, lavender satin dress trimmed in gilded rope, she looked like an angel. A long, velvet, purple robe was draped over her shoulders, fastened at her throat with an amethyst brooch. On her finger, she wore a stunning, silver horned ring bearing a baguette white crystal. Elorean had seen the ring many times before. It belonged to Thranduil.

Callistia pulled a delicate, laced handkerchief from her pocket and held it over her nose. In her other hand, she carried a rough, burlap sack. The sentry slid an iron skeleton key into the lock. He held a piece of parchment bearing the King's seal. The latch clicked and the door swung open. Callistia entered and unceremoniously tossed the sack at Elorean’s feet. “Such a dreadful place,” she said, sniffing.

“Thranduil and I have decided that you are to be Banished Elorean,” she announced haughtily. Holding her hand up to admire her ring, she smiled triumphantly, “He has pledged himself to me, I am to be Queen.” 

Elorean blinked, stunned. “Chop, chop!” Callistia clapped her hands loudly. The sound hurt, snapping Elorean out of her trance like state.

“Let us be on our way!” she said cheerfully, motioning for Elorean to pick up the sack. Callistia turned and exited, the train of her robe trailing behind her. 

Elorean lifted the sack and followed. Her shoulders slumped and her hair hung over her face like cutains. Banished. The word echoed in her mind. Thranduil had banished her. It was hard to breathe. 

Luthaniel stood guard atop the stone wall surrounding the gates of Mirkwood. He leaned over a bent knee above the gates scouring the forest that encompassed them. Seeing Elorean approaching, he jumped down enthusiastically. 

“Ellie!” he exclaimed, halting in concern when he saw her face. “Oh Ellie,” he said. He brushed her hair back from her puffy eyes and hugged her. Elorean fought hard to keep the tears at bay. 

Callistia cleared her throat, annoyed that the lanky guard was paying any attention to the fading elf in front of her. Pulling an official looking document from her skirts, Callistia presented it to Luthaniel in a regal manner. Luthaniel ran his fingers over the royal wax seal before snapping it and unfolding the crisp parchment. “Banished?” he said in astonishment, staring at the decree in disbelief. 

“Yes. Banished! Now let us proceed. Open the gate!” Callistia ordered. Luthaniel looked at Elorean, devastated. Walking to her, he pulled her to his chest, kissed her forehead and whispered in her ear. “Stay close Ellie, I will find you.” 

‘No, Luthaniel. He will banish you too,” she said emphatically.

“Here,” he said, glancing at the paltry sack she been given for supplies. He pulled his holster and its sword over his head and placed it around Elorean. She smiled bravely at him.

Callistia sighed impatiently and Elorean adjusted the lightweight sack over her shoulder. She proceeded to the gate. Luthaniel reluctantly went to his post. He pulled the lever. His eyes were wet as Elorean passed through.

Crossing the threshold, Elorean did not look back once. She broke into a run. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her. She ran from the tears and from the crushing grip Thranduil had over her heart. She ran until she could feel nothing but the wind hitting her face and everything inside of her and out, became a blur.


	21. Chapter 21

On the evening of the third day of Elorean’s imprisonment, Thranduil felt his anger decreasing from a full boil to a simmer. Locking her up served a dual purpose. He did not need to worry about her escaping, and, she was protected from him. Thranduil did not trust himself with her yet. He was barely able to keep his wrath contained the last time he saw her. 

His head turned down and his expression fell as he thought about what he had done to her. His heart plummeted in regret. But she had taken his horse! She had taken his own horse to escape with his prisoner! Slamming his quill down on his desk, he stood to return to his chambers. He would change into his riding garb and take the stallion out for an evening run among the trees.

Entering his rooms, he found Callistia waiting for him. She wore nothing but a braided, silver belt with tassels that dangled tantalizingly between her thighs. She was beautiful, almost perfect he thought, staring at her upturned nipples. She poured him a full goblet of wine and seductively walked over to him. He did not object when she went down on her knees in front of him and began unbuckling his belt. 

After Callistia finished with him, he laid on his bed. The goblet of wine had been too generous and the turmoil of the week had kept him from adequate rest. He fell into an uncharacteristic sleep and did not wake until morning. 

His attendant arrived with his clothing, but Thranduil brushed him aside while he went to the baths. The elf at the pool washed the King’s hair and wrapped him in a lush, white bathrobe. He applied oils to Thranduil’s feet and manicured his nails. Toweling his hair dry, he combed it straight. “Will that be all My Lord?” he whispered against Thranduil’s neck, running his fingers delicately over the King’s ears and applying pressure to their lobes.

“Yes.” Thranduil answered, his eyes traveling over the steward who was particularly skilled at taking care of all of Thranduil’s needs. 

“Very good My Lord,” he said. Snapping his fingers, he called for the King’s clothing to be brought in. While the servant dressed him, Thranduil noted the absence of his crystal ring on the silver tray holding his adornments, but he did not think much of it. It was not unusual for his servant to bring only a small selection of jewelry to the spa. 

Walking to his office, the King passed the rooms he had assigned to Elorean and Aleial. He stopped upon observing Aleial packing Elorean’s belongings into a basket. He stepped into the room. Aleial was studying a leather bound journal. Thranduil took it from her.

The journal was filled with colored drawings of various plants, trees and flowers. Each carefully sketched picture had a name, description, and a notation of where it could be found and the correct season for harvesting. There were pages and pages of notes regarding treatments with careful explanations of patient’s illnesses and afflictions.

“What is this?” Thranduil asked, looking up from the book at Aleial. 

“It is Elorean’s medical book My Lord. She began keeping it when her Father died.” Aleial said, her voice filled with melancholy.

“Her Father fell at Dol Guldur, did he not?” Thranduil questioned.

“He was badly wounded and captured there My Lord. He died in the prison, “she said. “Her Mother was never the same after that. That is when Elorean started volunteering at the prison here. She was not allowed to use the pharmacy for inmates, so she learned how to make remedies on her own.” Aleial paused and a worried expression crossed her delicate, dark features.

“Madam Gwinithiel will destroy that book if she sees it. It makes her furious when Elorean is able to heal people she cannot with her mixtures,” Aleial said cautiously. 

“She banned Elorean from her charity work when her Mom crossed to Valinor.” 

Thranduil raised his head, taken aback. A small drawing slipped out of the journal. Aleial scooped to pick it up. Thranduil stared at the portrait.

“That was her Father,” Aleial said. The eyes of the elf in the picture seemed to smile. They bore a striking resemblance to the eyes of the elderly Dwarf Elorean had been attempting to treat and rescue in his dungeon. 

Thranduil cursed in elvish. Tossing the journal aside, he left Aleial standing in the Elorean’s room alone, holding the portrait. He traversed the path to the prison at a sprinter's pace. This time, the guard saw him approaching and bowed “My King,” he said, but Thranduil had already rushed past him to Elorean’s cell, ignoring the offensive odors stewing around hm.

Momentarily stunned, Thranduil stared into the empty cell. “Where is she?” he demanded.

“She is gone my Lord,” the guard stammered.

“Gone where?” Thranduil growled closing the distance between them.

“Banished My Lord. You ordered her Banished.” The guard was stuttering now. He retrieved the parchment from the watchman’s desk bearing the King’s seal and handed it to Thranduil.

“Where did this come from?” Thranduil asked his voice taking a savage tone as his eyes skimmed over the document.

“The healer’s daughter, My King. Your Queen,” the flustered guard answered.

“Callistia!” Thranduil uttered under his breath. “When!” he roared.

“Yesterday morning My Lord,” the guard answered apologetically. 

Dread rose in Thranduil’s chest like bile. The parchment fell to the floor he ran out of the prison shouting orders to his guards.


	22. Chapter 22

Elorean’s fleeting stride cooled into a walk. She thought of her Mother and how she had given up after her Father had died. Elorean had tried to cajole her out of her despair by bringing her chocolates and taking her on long walks in the woods to no avail. The faraway look in her Mother’s eyes never receded. She was broken.

“You will not break me Thranduil.” A pigeon in high in the trees let out a mournful coo as if he heard her and understood. She needed a plan. It would be required if she were to survive in the wild alone. The other requirement would be that she drive Thranduil from her mind. With firm resolve, she banished him from her thoughts. 

Elorean turned to explore her surroundings. Her foraging skills and knowledge of plants and herbs would be crucial to her now. She began a search for berries that should be in plentiful supply this season. 

Thranduil ordered a search company to be assembled immediately. He flew to his rooms to don his battle garb. Callistia was there waiting for him. She smiled when she saw him. Picking up a ripe strawberry, she seductively put the tip of it to her stained lips and licked.

"Get out of my way!" Thranduil said, his voice was low and malevolent.

The strawberry dropped to the floor. Callistia froze. Thranduil threw her across the room with one swipe of his arm. He dressed hurriedly, ignoring her while his servant assisted him with his his armor. “I will deal with you when I return,” he hissed, exiting the room, “Pray that she lives!”

"Noro Lim!" Thranduil shouted, giving his company the order to ride fast. His voice held the urgency of a battle command. The legendary warrior knew the dangers of the wild more than anyone. He would not allow himself to consider the thought that she might already be dead. 

Feren had informed the King that Elorean was armed. The guard at the gate had gifted her his sword when Callistia had presented her for exile. For that, Thranduil was grateful. It was why he did not decline Luthaniel when the elf had requested to join the company of Thranduil’s best warriors and trackers in the search for Elorean. Still, Thranduil felt a twinge of jealousy toward this soldier who he had seen with Elorean, jousting playfully outside the stables, this soldier who was willing to die for her. 

Elorean climbed a tree when darkness fell. She knew that foul creatures came forth at night. She was attuned to the language of the forest. During the day she was accustomed to the sounds and the silences that would alert her to impending danger. At night, the inhabitants of the forest did not speak and she was on own. Her eyesight was keen in the darkness. The night passed under her scrutiny from her high watch. For now, she was safe.

Eating a corner of the Waybread Callistia had provided in her paltry, mostly useless supplies, Elorean took in the morning. His image came to her and a grief rose in her belly. She hardened herself to it and positioned her mind forward, closing her eyes tightly against the pain. Her fingernails made crescent moon impressions on her palm as she grasped tightly, telling herself she was letting go. She set her feet firmly on the ground and willed them to propel her forward by sheer force. She followed the river.

They were on horseback, Thranduil reasoned. They could take her with speed if she had survived the night, and, if they could find her. Luthaniel rode up alongside the King, the anguish of a million sunsets colored his countenance. “She will stay close to the water My Lord,” the lowest ranking elf in the party said.

Thranduil veered towards the river, the line shifted to follow their King. He resented the knowledge this elf possessed and envied the fact he knew Elorean so well he could divine her movements. It was of no consequence for now. Thranduil’s sole objective was to find her. 

Elorean had the strange sensation of Deja vu. Her mind was given to notice patterns on tree bark and other markers around her. She had trained herself to map the forest in order to find her healing herbs. She saw repeated themes over and over again, the same rock, the same stretch of low lying trees, the same batches of moss. She even felt she had made the acquaintance of the same frog twice. She was travelling in circles. The path she wandered seemed far too dark for the hour in which she embarked.

She cut a piece of string from her sack and tied it around a familiar sapling that she should not have passed before, yet was certain she had. The air was stale and she was afraid. A stillness fell around her and she knew she was in trouble. Dropping her sack, she unsheathed Luthaniel’s sword.

It was a strange noise she heard, not one she had ever heard before. It moved in the trees all around her and she could not place a definitive spot from which it originated. It was a quiet rush, like a whispered foreign language. The sound grew louder coming at her from all directions.

The spiders broke from the trees, hungrily clicking their jaws. Elorean felt disorientated. As they descended upon her, she felt Thranduil’s arms around her, teaching her the stance to defend both of her sides. She easily took out the spider to her right and moved in the correct posture to take out the attack coming in on her left side. Thee spitting, squealing arachnid fell.

Luthaniel had been right. They found a tie on a lone sapling between two boulders along the path bordering of the river. Thranduil’s senses sharpened. Honing in on something only he could follow, he instinctively lunged his horse though the brush. He found her.

She stood in the center of a glade. The spiders surrounded her. Judging the distance between them, a vice gripped his heart, time became his enemy. He watched as she cut down the spider on her right with amazing agility, but as she did, another was already upon her left flank. His view shifted into slow motion as he pushed to reach her. The spider’s stinger zeroed in on her left side. He watched as Elorean perfectly executed the motion he had he taught her, the one she had failed at in a skirt. The spider shuddered and collapsed to the ground. 

Thranduil’s company moved in, the infestation was dense, but he was almost to her and she had fought valiantly. His soldiers had expeditiously removed the incoming threats. She was safe. 

Then he saw her body still, a look of terror crossed her face. She raised her sword and threw it. Thranduil’s eyes followed the path of her blade as it impaled the head of a spider that had Luthaniel trapped on his back beneath it. 

From the canopy above, a lone spider dropped upon her. She saw it coming but had no weapon to defend herself. Thranduil watched in horror as the stinger pierced her side and she fell to the ground..

His violent scream echoed through the forest and even the few straggling spiders that remained stood like statues, stunned as the sound reverberated through the trees.


	23. Chapter 23

"Luthaniel! No! No!" “ Elorean’s mind started to spin. Why was he here? He had come for her even though she told him not too. If Thranduil discovered that he had risen to her aid, he would be banished too! And the spiders, the spiders. They were everywhere! She watched in horror as one of the giant, mangy beasts lurched forward and took Luthaniel to the ground. There was no decision to be made. There was no hesitation. She drew her sword over her head, aimed, and threw. It made a thudding sound as it sank into the spider’s head. Luthaniel rolled out of the path of the falling monster.

She heard the clicking above her. As she turned and looked up, she saw the grotesque face with protruding eyes that had her in its sights. It plunged upon her hungrily. Sharp fangs impaled her soft middle flesh and she screamed at the stabbing pain that radiated though her. Without her weapon, she was defenseless. She closed her eyes as the spider crawled in for the kill. 

He reached her in seconds, but he was too late, he had heard her cry out. She had been stung. Thranduil decapitated the beast with one swift stroke of his blade. He dropped to his knees and carried her head to his chest. Her blue eyes were the color of rain and they seemed to be looking through him. She was limp in his arms. 

Elorean saw him in a fog. She could feel the poison the arachnid injected into her beginning to spread. It burned like fire. Thranduil’s face loomed above her. He was a dream, she thought, just a dream.

He gently peeled her tunic from the wound and placed his hand over it, blood seeped through his fingers. Luthaniel came up to her other side, his hands trembled. He held a bunch of green, heart shaped leaves. Nudging the King’s hand away he covered the gash on her side. “Ellie, Ellie,” he sobbed.

Thranduil withdrew his a dagger from his waist. Shoving Luthaniel’s hand from Elorean's bare midsection, he brought the dagger to her belly.

“No! No!” Luthaniel screamed as the King’s guards seized him, dragging him away. Lifting her hand, Thranduil entwined his fingers in hers. “Hold my hand myrailor, hold tight.” He said, his voice thick and hard with resolve. The tip of his blade found the gaping hole the spider had torn into her side and he dug into it. She screamed and clutched his hand as he sliced through her flesh. His fingers dripped in her blood.

A mound of clay was handed to him. One guard held her head firmly between his knees stroking her hair as another fastened her arms down. Thranduil spread the incision apart, trying to block out the sound of her pain and applied the poultice, liberally spreading it over the lesion. 

He lifted her into his arms and blessed her with the light of valar, asking for grace. 

It was not to be. The toxin had gone deep and was spreading. Her body shuddered and convulsed. She railed and writhed against the venom as it burned through her like fire. 

Her light was fading, Thranduil felt her pulse receding, she smelled of death. “Stay with me Elora,” he said his voice soft like magic, luring her from the pain making it seem not real. “I love you Elorean, I love you,” he choked as she exhaled her final breath. Her heart fluttered once at his words and then ceased to beat.


	24. Chapter 24

He had known loss before, but not like this. He had come to care deeply for the Mother of his son, the beautiful, regal Naowyn, his bride of Oropher’s choosing. Her death had grieved him deeply. But this, this was a pain that crippled the great Elvenking, its scorching depths hotter than any dragon’s breath, its sharp blade twisting mercilessly inside him. He was utterly destroyed. His broad shoulders shook and he sobbed.

Radagast had been alerted to a lone elleth in the forest. She was known to the animals as one to offer salves, potions, and her healing abilities to any creature she found in need during her secret wanderings.

A pigeon had whispered into the old wizard’s ear, that now, it was she who was in need of aid. The solitary sage gathered his supplies, called up his Rhosgobel rabbits and set out. He hoped he would find her before the spiders of the Witch King found her first. Darkness had overtaken the woods, an elf without company was sure to fall prey to the evil forces that emanated through the trees. 

As Radagast came upon the scene, he found the legendary Elvenking, Thranduil, on his knees, covered in blood, holding the elleth in his arms. His shoulders slumped and heaved in his despair. “Put her down! Give her some air for goodness sake!” the old wizard said frantically scrambling to the to the King’s side. 

“It is a dark and powerful magic in these woods Thranduil,” Radagast said. “These creatures are spawns of Ungoliant! Come on now!” he urged, pressing the King’s arms downward so that he would release her. 

Elorean was placed on the ground in front of him. Radagast removed a cobalt blue, horn shaped vile from his pocket. He placed the tip to Elorean’s slightly parted, pale lips. Her eyes were still open, fixed in a death stare. Their shade matched the cobalt blue of the vile. 

Radagast began chanting, an ancient magical language, Illumine. Drifting into a trance, his eyes crossed and closed. The wind built around them. A black shadow streamed forth from Elorean’s mouth, filling the vile as the wizard drew it from her body with his powerful spell. As his voice magnified through the trees, Thranduil felt a shift in the breeze and the clouds broke. A warm, golden beam fell upon them. 

Elorean’s pupil’s dilated and she sucked in a breath of air. Her gaze drifted and landed on Thranduil’s ice blue eyes, they were like a magnificent, melting glacier. He reached a bloodied hand to her cheek and let out a choked, grateful sob as a tear as a tear dripped onto her face.

Thranduil saw the confusion pass over her eyes and then the pain took her. She screamed, raking the muddy poultice at her waist. “She will require elven magic to heal that,” Radagast said. 

Thranduil touched his hand to his heart and extended it toward the brown wizard, giving him a bow of his head, while clasping Elorean’s hands in his other. 

“The world is in grave danger, King of the Mirkwood elves,” Radagast said to his neighbor, the greatest warrior of middle earth who watched over the same lands as the wizard. Radagast mounted his sleigh and kicked off, the rabbits taking him out sight in a flurry.

Thranduil cautiously lifted Elorean and motioned for his horse to come to him. He commanded the animal down. It bent upon its front legs, lowering for Thranduil to mount without jarring the healer, now turned patient in his arms. He murmured an ancient elven incantation into her ear. The sound of his voice reached through her pain and beckoned her. Elorean could not understand the words he said, but his voice was a cool liquid on the scorching agony that filled her insides. The pain receded into the background as he held her suspended, floating in another place. Thranduil guided the horse into a swift, fluid, run.

His personal bedchamber filled with healers. Aleial tried to give Elorean a pain tincture but she choked and sputtered. Thranduil took it from her and parted Elorean’s lips with his fingers, he forced it into her, clamping her mouth shut. Putting his hand on her forehead he tilted her head back until she swallowed. He winced at the memory of the last time he had done that to her.

As the potion seeped into her, blocking her pain, Thrandiul breathed a sigh of relief. She fell into a peaceful rest as the healers continued to work on her through the night. 

He stayed away during the days that followed, giving her time to heal and regain her strength. He spent the nights with her in his arms as she seemed prone to reliving her terrors in the dark. More often than not, Aleial was there too. She rarely left Elorean’s side. Thranduil often came to find them fast asleep when he came to his rooms, peeling the clinging Aleial off of him in the mornings without awakening her. 

There were many pressing matters to deal with, the least of which was the healers in his dungeons, Mother and daughter who issued daily demands for an audience with the King. He would not spare them a second of his time until Elorean had fully recovered. He read her medical journal with rapt attention amazed at the work she had done and the discoveries she had made. 

As the healers reported she was growing strong, Thranduil started taking meals with her in his room. She was guarded with him, untrusting and shy. Often when he looked into her eyes her, a deep, pink flush would spread over her cheeks. He handled her gently, understanding the trauma she had been through.

“Elorean, come with me,” he said after a breakfast of blackberry filled crepes. She was healing well, her pallor had balanced, her lips were no longer pale and he felt the static about her. Her electricity was returning.

Elorean breathed in at the thought. She longed to leave the underground halls whose walls were closing in around her. She craved the smell of grass and the feel of the sun on her skin. 

“Outside?” she asked. Thranduil visibly smiled at the eagerness in her voice, happy to be offering her something she desired.

“Yes, myrialor,” he said taking both of her hands in his, feeling the soft current running through her fingers, “Outside.”

The King ordered a large guard to accompany them, the dangers of the Mirkwood lands had grown and he was unwilling to risk her safety. She rode on his horse, in front of him, his arm wrapped around her waist. His touch made her shudder and sent surges of sensations though her she did not understand.

He took her to a place of the forest that had somehow been shielded from most of the darkness that had turned the lush green lands into the dark, dangerous place it had become. 

She slid of the horse with his assistance and her eyes grew wide. “What is this place?” she asked, running her fingers over an elongated pod growing from a patch of leafy stems. It was Thranduil’s turn to shudder. “It is a place that has not yet succumbed to the darkness Elorean.” He handed her the leather bound journal and a pencil and watched her exploring the glade. Her childlike wonderment thrilled him and made him ache in need of her. 

As they made the ride back to his halls, Elorean clutched her journal filled with sketches, clippings and notes. He took her to his rooms. He did not want to overexert her after her first outing and they had stayed far longer than he had intended. He had several matters of state to attend to so he turned her over to the care of Aleial. He steeled himself against the growing desire inside of him, he had to give her time.

“My Lord,” she called out to him. Thranduil turned to her. “Thank you,” she said. He was pulled back to the night at Erebor, in his tent, when he had granted her request for the barrel of wine. He felt the same rush in his groin for her appreciation. He nodded and left before he could think better of it.


	25. Chapter 25

Thranduil carefully plans the evening meal and an excursion, wanting to close the distance between them. He feels Elorean’s hesitancy, it hangs in the air, separating them. Still, she is less guarded of late and often shifts into a comfortable place with him. But she is afraid, he knows. She shrinks from him and flinches at his touch, and, he reasons, it is time for her to face her fears. 

Finding her not present in his rooms, he discovers Alieal there instead. “Where is she?” The edge in his voice makes the elf who has spent many nights against his warmth worry and she cannot look at him.

“She went to see Luthaniel My Lord.” Aleial is reluctant. Seeing the cold fury in his eyes, she regrets having told him. She hopes there is nothing passing between Luthaniel and Elorean. Her friend has become pensive and withdrawn and speaks little of matters of the heart since returning from her exile. 

Thranduil has already gone after her before Alieal can concoct a believable excuse for Elorean to have sought out Luthaniel. The truth is she does not know why. She bites her lip, fearing what fate might be befall her friend now, The King scares her.

He finds them at Luthaniel’s post, at the gate, the guard putting a round fruit into her mouth. She is laughing, a sound he has heard only once before, a sound he has craved, but now causes pain. Before him, she sits perched upon the stone wall, one leg dangling over, relaxed and easy. The tenseness that her body holds with him is absent in the company of this young guard. 

A thick wad of jealousy swells inside him and it feels dark and murderous. Thranduil thinks it may have been preferable had the spider taken this soldier that is so unabashedly familiar with Elorean. 

“A pack of Orc’s could be upon us and we would be none the wiser guard!” A King’s voice cuts through the pair on the wall, Luthaniel stumbles, rising quickly to his feet. 

“Forgive me My Lord,” in his words are the clear tones of servitude and submission. Thranduil is appeased, for now, and his focus turns to Elorean. 

He offers her his hand and she takes it with trepidation, his long fingers enclosing hers a bit too tightly. He yanks her from the wall roughly, but catches her from the fall as she falters. As he walks her to his halls, his tall legs take great strides and Elorean has to jog to keep up with him, the grip on her hand has not lessened. His silence is deafening. 

The enticing smells of warm bread and baked apples stream past as he pulls her into his room, but Elorean feels no hunger, her belly is filled with dread. Thranduil’s own stomach feels hard, but wanting, a need far greater than the pangs of a hunger that can be satisfied with food.

“You will not distract my guards Elorean,” his voice holds no reprieve from his stony silence and Elorean thinks this is what it feels like to be a cornered mouse in the sights of feral, hungry cat.

“You will not leave this room Elorean, you will not step out that door without my permission!” He sees her take a step back so he toys with her, taking two steps forward. A hint of defiance crosses her face and his look dares her to challenge him. 

“I do not know what you want from me!” she yells. He backs her into the table where their cooling evening meal sits, untouched. He forces himself upon her. “If you knew what I want from you Elorean you would run. You would run far, far away,” he says, his voice raw and primal. He overtakes her, pulling her head back by her hair, burying her mouth in his. 

She struggles and his fingers press into her arms, bruising her as she grips the side of the table and whimpers, straining her body away from his. Her hand reaches behind her, searching for protection, running over gravied bread and jellied berries. She hurls the first heavy plate she finds but she misses her mark, her aim clumsy with her arms bound underneath his unyielding grip. The plate shatters on the ground at their feet, its contents splattering across the floor. 

She sinks as he pushes her down, knees buckling, her resistance a futile effort under the weight of him. Shards of glass cut her into her back and through the thin material of her leggings, gouging into her buttocks. Gooey globs of fruit pie stick in her hair. This time, when she cries out in pain, Thranduil leans himself back from her. 

The sound is an obstacle in the path of the roaring wave that has now overtaken him. His eyes bear down on her and he sees it written on her face, smells it coming from body, fear, panic….pain. This is not what he wants. In this moment, he understands, what he wants is for her to offer herself to him. He wants her to come to him like she goes to the guard. He does not want to take her by force or coercion. He wants her to be his by her own free will.

He knows now, he cannot take her body this way, but his desire is a tidal wave, he is hard and throbbing for the want of her. Her eyes, they are ocean blue today. He wants to dive into them, to swim in them and he despairs at the cresting wave inside of him. Thranduil does not know if he can stop it now, if he can stop himself. Her lips are parted, swollen and he reads on her face something new, something he has not seen before. Her breath is coming in short pants and he realizes, she is aroused. 

The knowledge is sobering. She is young and has not opened her body to take in a lover’s passion. She has not yet been driven into bittersweet ecstasy or pounded into the dark inferno of wicked desires. He lifts himself off of her, drawing in a breath to stabilize himself. He calls for the attendant to take her to the baths and wash the mess off of her gravied fingers and her sticky hair. He needs a moment alone to recover himself so he does not commit to do something that will crush him by morning. 

The young elf picks her up off the floor and leads to her to the pools. She shakes violently as he undresses her, removing her clothing without once touching her skin. She must lean on him as he walks her to the water’s edge, her knees are butter and her gait is unsteady. She feels humiliated in her nakedness and tries to cover herself.

”Relax My Lady, no harm will come to you here,” he cajoles softly, coaxing her down into the water. He stays behind her, pulling the sharp fragments of gluey glass from her hair one by one. When he is certain he has removed them all and will not cut her scalp, he lathers her hair with juniper scented shampoo and rinses it with a pitcher of warmed rose water. 

Thranduil is there now, having tamed the reflexive instincts that had him at the brink of losing control moments before. He watches as the dark haired bath attendant guides her up and begins running the dripping sponge over her white skin that glistens in wetness. 

He needs to touch her and he goes to the poolside filling his palms with soapy lotion. Her back is turned to him and she does not know when he signals the attendant to step back and the hand of a servant on her body becomes the hands of the King.

He slips his fingers down her sides. She gasps as he glosses her nipple and her head rotates over her shoulder. She sees his sliver blond hair and she knows him now. She shudders. He steps into the water to stand and face her, fully dressed. Water seeps into his boots. He places a gentle hand on the side of her neck tipping her chin to him. “Elora,” his says, his voice deep and tender. His lips fall on hers and as he kisses her. He groans at the pillow softness of her mouth in his.

He draws back when he feels her quiver and tastes the salt of her tears. She croaks in a broken voice “I don’t know what you want from me,” and begins to sob. 

He wants to take away her tears, to hear her laugh. He wants to show her the mysteries of the centuries he has lived, to give her all that is his. He wants to hear her cry out his name when he teaches her body to go beyond its limits and experience pleasures she has never imagined. 

“Elora, Elora,” he says the name like a chant.

Elorean feels deep shame for breaking in front of him, she does not want him to see her this way, damaged and wasted from his use. “What about your Queen? she says, the bitterness not disguised in her question and Thranduil stares at her in confusion. 

“Will she not mind you having soaked yourself to be in the pool with me?”

“My Queen?” he asks thinking she means Naowyn. “She is long dead Elora.” 

“Callistia,” the name falls from her mouth like a twisted barb. Loathing fills him. 

“She will never be my Queen Elora,” she is my prisoner now.

“She wears your ring,” Elorean says in a hoarse whisper. 

Thranduil now knows why the ring has not been offered to him over the course of the past weeks and he curses the thief in his dungeon who pulled off such an elaborate charade right under his nose. 

“The ring belongs to me, Elora. She stole it, it is not true that I gave it to her,” his mind wanders to the fury he intends to unleash in that sordid dungeon cell when he retrieves his ring from the witch who thought she could be a queen.

Elorean fights the growing torment inside her but it gushes forth and her body is wracked in heaving sobs. Thranduil pulls her too him, holding her weight as she seems on the verge of disintegration. “You Banished me,” she cries into his shoulder her tears soaking his shirt. ‘You Banished me.” His head turns up and he takes in a sharp breath before closing his eyes against the anguish.

“No, Elora, no,” he groans, revulsion surges through him like a hot arrow as the truth that eluded him until now becomes clear. She thinks it was he who sent her away, away to a certain death. 

“I did not Banish you myrialor, I could never….” his words get caught in his throat. 

“The documents were forged Elora, they were not by my hand nor by my command,” he says pulling her back. 

Kissing her eye lids heavy with tears, he stokes her and when she looks up at him, her lips are parted and he can see the want all over her face, he can feel it in her breath and in the trembling of her wet, naked body in his arms. 

He kisses her, engulfing her mouth in hers and brings his hand up to cup her breast, letting his fingers tease her nipple that tightens to his touch. His hands, slippery with bathing lotion slide down her still too thin curves. He grasps her buttock cheek securing her as he spreads her thighs with his knee. His other hand travels down, feathering over her navel and he feels the goose bumps on her silky skin. 

He takes all of her in his hand at once and her body spasms. He splits her apart with his thumb and finds her coursing nub, her body jerks and she cries out. 

He kisses her neck as she flutters under his circling. “Please, do not do this to me again Thranduil,” her voice is wrought with desperation.” She does not know his intentions, she still does not trust him. He lifts his face to hers.

“I will give you pleasure tonight myri. I will not abandon you. I will let you come,” he says huskily before he takes her mouth in his again and opens her lips with his tounge. 

He stokes her in his hand and then brings two fingers to her quivering clit. His hand sinks between her buttocks and his slick, long fingers massage the round mound of her anus. 

She gasps in shock at the violation, but her arm tightens around his neck and her other hand clutches the fabric of his shirt under his collar bone. She is moaning in her pleasure and Thranduil wants to drink in this moment. He leans back and she cries, “No, no, please,” her eyes are clamped shut tightly.

“Open your eyes Elora,” and when she obeys he rewards her with his fingers. A choked cry comes from her parted lips. “Look at me myri,” he says caressing her with his voice. “Your King wants to watch you come.”

As she lifts her eyes to his, they are a brilliant blue, her pupils wide and dilated. Her face is streaked in flushes and her mouth is gently parted as ragged cries escape her. She is frightened, he knows how fear looks on her face. She still does not know how this will end, what he is going to do to her, how she will burn as he finishes her.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as the throes of sensation cross her eyes and her face. He knows she is ready. His fingers move with precision taking her up, higher and higher until she is weeping and clawing him. He wants to keep watching her but she is writhing in torment and he knows it would be cruel, because she is new, not to let her go. 

He pushes her body over the edge and she plummets and convulses. The corners of his mouth turn up in an appreciative smile at seeing her like this. “I love you Elora,” he promises before he stretches her and inserts one of his slippery fingers into her bottom and fills her so she cannot descend and he keeps her there longer. She wails and her back arches as he wrings her bud and he watches the ecstasy cross her face, pleased to have her screaming at him in rapture this time rather than wrath. 

In the final tremors and aftershocks, the servant’s hands hold her up from behind to prevent her from collapsing so Thranduil’s fingers can hold her until she is thoroughly spent. 

Her eyes close and she winces as he withdraws his finger from her. He nods to the attendant that he has her. A heated robe is brought and he wraps her in it. He lifts her into his arms and carries her to his bed, his boots soaked and sloshing.

The mess in the room has been cleaned and his bed has been turned down. He places her on the sheets and covers her. Her body still has a current running through it and he feels a slight shock as he kisses her forehead. The attendant helps him divulge himself of his wet boots and clothing and Thranduil lays next to her, pulling her into his embrace.

He will not take her fully tonight. He will not take her fully until she comes to him.


	26. Chapter 26

His attendant comes at the usual hour with his clothing, but Thranduil motions him away. He is watching her sleep. He has been watching her sleep for over an hour now. He thinks of Naowyn, so beautiful, beyond compare. Regal and always calm, Thranduil admired her and learned to care for her deeply, even more so after Legolas was born. At times, as a Mother, Naowyn stepped out of character. It was at those times he loved her most.

Elorean is different. She is tall for an elleth, long and narrow and favors no adornments. Taking little care with her hair, she seems to abhor wearing anything other than boots and leggings. Appearances matter not to her, it is plain to see. She runs deeper than the Enchanted River of Mirkwood and can rival the strongest storm he has known. As he looks at her, sleeping, it is as though he has left a well-manicured rose garden and entered into a vast wilderness. Even at rest, she is intense. 

Naowyn was easy in love, trained and willing. He remembers her sweetness with a longing that has gashed at his heart for many years. He feels Elorean now again, though, in her complete abandon, loosing herself to him and he knows he has never seen such beauty or loved so much as this.

Watching her stir and open her eyes, his heart skips a beat. The memory of the night before crosses her eyes and a blush breaks across her face as she learns to feel the secrets kept by a crimson dawn. She reaches up and touches her lips, taking in a short, surprised breath that makes him smile.

Elorean turns, finding him watching her. Heat spreads over her face and she looks away in embarrassment. He tilts her chin up, making her look at him and she thinks she must be as red as a beet. Recalling the events of the night before, she longs to crawl away and hide in a deep, dark cave forever. She knows he will not let her.

Once he captures her in his eyes though, she cannot look away. He is so beautiful. She has never seen anyone so beautiful. She has to hold herself back because she wants to touch him, she wants to put her fingers in his hair, she wants to feel his lips and run her hands over his chest. She wants to sink into his wounds and heal him. 

He says nothing, he just stares into her and she is squirming, thinking about how he touched her and the things he made her feel…..and the attendant in the room who held her up when he put his finger in her there…. and the world exploded, and Elorean thinks she just might die.

Still, he is quiet and just smiling, knowing, watching all of this cross her face as if he is reading her mind and it feels like torture. His confidence unnerves her and she thinks he knows this because of the way he is staring at her. She wishes he would say something because she does not know what to say, but he seems to be waiting for her.

Thranduil sees her morning glory eyes flee from his and search for the door, she is still as skittish as one of Radagast’s rabbits. He loves what happens when he finally reassuringly strokes her cheek and she remembers to breathe and meets his eyes again. She tentatively reaches in a hand and runs a strand of his hair through her fingers with the same look of wonderment on her face as the day he took her the green glen to show her the plants that grew there. There is so much he wants to show her.


	27. Chapter 27

“Forgive me my Lord.” Feren was rushed. He had not found the King in his study or at his throne. If he had hoped to find Thranduil in his personal chamber, he certainly did not expect to discover him lingering in his bed with an elleth. The King was up on his elbow looking down on her and she was reaching up, fondling his long silver locks. 

“What is it Captain?” Thranduil did not look away from the elfling under his gaze when answering.

”The Scouts have warned of an approaching Orc pack at the Western border, they number about a hundred My Lord.” Still, the King does not look away from her, but the hand that is entwined in his hair withdraws.

“Call up your company, I will join you at the gate,” Thranduil orders.

“Yes my Lord.” Feren leaves thinking how curious it is for the King to keep a Naditu in his bed and tarry there until such a late hour of the morning.

Kissing her faintly, Thranduil rises as his attendant enters, straining under the weight of his armor. Elorean watches him dress, her eyes traveling over the lines of his body and she thinks he is built to be a warrior. Everything about him is imposing and strong. She envies the attendant standing close enough to take in the scent of his woodland skin and brushing his hands over the King’s muscled shoulders, smoothing his clothing. 

She knows his size, having had him in her mouth and it left her ruined for days. To look upon him fully like this makes her shiver with the trepidation of a dark, hungry desire and a helpless panic. 

Thranduil turns to her and drinks in the look on her face. He raises his brows slightly, giving her a smirk, not attempting to hide his amusement. He purposely flexed in her full view and he knows exactly what she is thinking about. He watches as her cheeks flame and his smirk turns into a knowing smile. He leaves her with that and goes to his warriors, shifting his focus from the blushing tempest in his bed to Orc blood and battlefields. 

Aleial is happy to find Elorean in one piece, although she disparages at the many cuts on her back and the marks on her arms where his fingers bruised her the night before. She is surprised though at Elorean’s mood, having not seen her engaged like this since the incident that left her alone in the wilderness. Elorean is talking about the King, but she calls him Thranduil, and she’s blushing!

“Did he…. make love to you?” Alieal asks excitedly.

“No…..well kind of….but no...” Elorean is turning red now and Aleial gives her a conspiratorial grin.

“Let us remedy that tonight!” and when Elorean looks up at her as if she is actually contemplating the thought, Aleial claps her hands. 

They go to the spa and Aleial tells her to take her clothes off. Elerean does not protest this time, she is getting strangely used to this now but she cannot meet the attendant’s eyes as he brings the items her friend has requested.

Aleial scrubs Elorean with a gritty concoction until her skin is polished and gleaming. After she pulls her from the pool and dries her, she covers her with an oil that warms the skin and has the aroma of vanilla and almonds. 

They speak of secret things and Aleial reveals that she has stolen a kiss in the halls with Feren and how she has thought of little else since. Elorean’s skin takes on a rose shaded cast as she shares details about a kiss with the King and her fingers reach up and touch her lips at the memory. Aleial has the suspicion her friend is not telling her everything.

Aleial works with Elorean’s hair for what seems like hours, twisting and pulling and weaving in a circlet of tiny wildflowers. As she pulls out several pots and begins smudging the corners of Elorean’s eyes with a charcoal, she wonders how well her Mother prepared her for this night.

“The King is large Elorean, I have seen him bathe.” Elorean says nothing, she just looks up quizzically and blinks. 

“Here,” Aleial says, handing her a small vial. “This will help.” Elorean turns the cylinder shaped ampul over in her palm and examines it.

“Just put some on you before he…..,” Aleial stops.

“Do you think it will hurt much?” Elorean asks.

“It will be fine,” is all Aleial says, kissing her friend’s hair.

As Aleial is making final preparations for ELorean, Callistia is making preparations of her own. She has fared well in prison. Her beauty leaves the guards pliable and easy prey to the favors she offers them in exchange for special privileges. 

The King may believe he can throw her in the dungeon and ignore her, but he has underestimated her abilities. Whether or not she will be his Queen still remains in question, but even if she is denied her rightful place at his side, she intends to see to that Elorean will not be there in her stead. Whatever the King sees in her is a marvel to Callistia, she is an improperly dressed, unkempt elf who cannot hold a candle to her own beauty and is impetuous besides. 

Thranduil must go outside his borders to hunt down the Orc pack that veered off their direction when they gleaned that his forces were moving in on them. Once they are found, however, they are quickly dispatched of. Not a single one escapes and the King brings about the demise of over half of them all on his own. It is not the release he desires, but it quells some of inflamed need he has forsaken to await her surrender to him. He remembers her face this morning as she watched him stretch and dress and he thinks to himself with a smile, she will not keep him waiting much longer. 

Elorean hardly recognizes herself in the mirror. Aleial has stained her lips with cranberry balm and drawn out her eyes with a hint of charcoal. Her hair is elaborate, full, with waves, and loosely drawn up, long tendrils falling across her shoulders. She is decorated with a simple crown of delicate, pale flowers. The gown is sheer and white, revealing the dark peaks of her breasts under its silky fabric, the shoulders, nothing but thin straps. It clings to her form, creating shadows and hints of what lies beneath. Slits are cut in the skirt and the silhouettes of her long legs appear and then vanish with each step she takes. 

Aleial deposits her in the King’s bed chamber, a bundle of sparking nerves. “Don’t forget this Elorean,” she says squeezing the small vial in her hand and kissing her on the cheek. Aleial hails a servant in the hallway and orders a large decanter of wine and two goblets to be delivered to the King’s room immediately. Elorean will need the fortification, she muses.

Thranduil enters his rooms still in his full battle regalia looking every bit the King. He is distracted by the tray of wine and goblets, but when his gaze lands upon her, he halts and his loins catch fire. Her eyes come to him, a luminous azul blue, but quickly dance away and her cheeks burn.

For a long, frozen moment he just stares, but she cannot look up at him, her embarrassment churning inside her and she bites her bottom lip. Thranduil feels himself unraveling at the sight. He raises the decanter and gives her a long pour before crossing the floor and lifting her hand to it. She is shaking like a leaf about to be torn from its place by an autumn wind and he keeps his fingers over hers on the goblet until she steadies enough not to drop it. 

He coaxes her chin upward with his fingers making her look at him. He raises his brows, giving her the same amused smile he left her with in the morning. With his thumb, he tugs her bottom lip from the clench of her teeth. She looks as if she is about to cry. Taking a deep breath, he leans in and kisses her forehead. “Relax myrialor,” he whispers before turning and pouring himself a drink.


	28. Chapter 28

Thranduil sips his wine and Elorean does the same, imitating his moves as she did in battle, he muses. He lifts off his cape and drapes it over the chair before unbuckling the thick, leather vambraces from his lower arms. Piece by piece, he removes the armor, his eyes canvassing her as he does.

“Come here Elorean.” Thranduil’s voice has the dark undertones of a command and the persuasiveness of a seasoned King. Elorean sets down her goblet and cringes as it wobbles under her unsteady hands. She goes to him with her eyes on the floor. 

The gown moves with her body, clinging to her form, exposing her legs. Shockwaves are shooting through him at the vision of her taut, rose nipples peeking through the veil of the dress. 

When she lingers a few feet from him, he grins at the thought of chasing her if she bolts, and he thinks she just might. He does not wait for her to try.

She is apprehensive and shivering when he reaches her and he steels himself against his growing need to have her and the desire to handle her gently. This is not his first deflowering. 

“Look at me Elorean,” he says, sinking into the depths of her glistening blue eyes. Hitching the thin straps of her gown under his fingers, he glides them off her shoulders. The back of his hands graze her skin as the gown slips to the floor. 

A small gasp of alarm escapes her and Elorean’s arms jerk up to cover her breasts, but he catches them before they do and firmly lowers them back down, shaking his head. “No Elorean.” His scent is of the woods, and vitality, and battle, and it makes her dizzy.

Her nipples swell and stiffen under his gaze. She shudders as Thranduil pulls the clip from the back of her hair and all of Alieal’s hard work comes cascading down like a waterfall over her shoulders. Her golden locks frame her face and her breasts rise and fall with each uneven breath she takes. He could stare at her like this forever, but for the inferno that has stricken him and strains against his pants. 

He feels her tense as he devours her with his eyes. Slipping an arm around her back and the other under her knees, he lays her out on his bed. Tracing a finger over her stained lips, he presses his mouth to hers before arranging her. He gathers her ankles and bends her knees up, splaying her legs apart.

Stifling a groan, he runs his fingers over her breasts and down to the crease between her snowy thighs, not yet unhooding her center. She squirms beneath his touch and her hips buck up to meet him. He takes his other hand and reaches forward to caress her flushed cheek.

“Elorean, you were not given to be a Naditu. If I take you tonight, you will be mine.” He searches her eyes, needing to know she understands what she is committing to. He is unsure of how much of this was Aleial’s doing. Elorean is a quivering mess under his touch and he knows the gown could not possibly have been her idea. If she is to pledge herself to him tonight, it has to be with her consent. 

“Will you have me?” she says so softly her voice is a whisper in the wind. 

His fingers split the seal of her seam and he dips into her, giving her a long, firm stroke. A startled cry breaks from her and he smiles. “I will have you, Elora.”

Proceeding with her inauguration, he leans in and puts his hand beneath her neck and pulls her into a kiss that begins so gently that a tear slips from her eye. It is then that Elorean reaches up and pulls him in. 

Her fingers roam down his neck and over his collarbone, mapping him. She pulls at his shirt, longing feel his skin next to hers and she wriggles her fingers underneath it. She wants to know what it is like to touch him. 

Thranduil groans at her novice, eager groping. She unfastens his buttons one by one and when the last one hangs up, she pops it off and it clinks to the floor. Dragging the shirt off his shoulders, her nails graze his skin and she urges him to her. He thinks she will be the death of him. 

Before he has time to remove his pants, her hands are already there. When she manages to yank them past his shaft, now heavy and burning, she brings her foot up and places her toes on the crotch, pulling them down to his ankles with her leg. He laughs and quickly rids himself of them.

Shyness has now turned to unabashed want and her breathing is coming is short spurts. Her hands are curious, but still light, exploring him, their touch a feather tickling his skin. He burns to unleash himself into the debauchery of wanton lust and take her with abandon, but she is new and he knows he must prepare her.

“Shhhhhh,” he covers her protests with his mouth when he slows her. She is panting and making soft, hollow sounds as he steadies her rocking hips and calms her enough to spread her. He slides his fingers through her silk to find her opening.

She is soaked and it is almost his undoing. He muffles the moan rising in his throat as he infringes upon her with his finger. Elorean latches onto his hair and lets out a pitiful, desperate cry as she lunges to meet him. He holds her steady and inserts another finger and she goes rigid as he stretches her virginity, she is so small, so narrow. 

He wants to well ready her but his ministrations are causing her to resist and he knows this will only make it worse for her. Withdrawing his fingers he makes long strokes over her twitching clit, unwinding her from the pain until she is asking for him again. 

First his hand then his tongue massage her rose tinged breasts and he pulls her erect nipple into his mouth sucking and nipping until her jittering and bucking becomes feverish. Her hands are growing bolder and traveling to new territory on his body. He knows he will not be able to bear it if she touches him now, his greed for her having been delayed far too long. He mounts her, expanding the space between the soft flesh of her thighs with his own.

Her fingers are tangled in his hair as he delves his lips into hers. Bending one of her knees up, he parts her more so that his ready cock can find her entrance. She is writhing beneath him and her moans of anticipation are as alluring as the song of the sirens. His engorged head rests on her quivering chasm and he gently begins to breach her. 

She cries out and jerks back. He holds her tighter and bears in again, harder. This time she lets out a frightened gasp tries to separate from him. He raises himself over her on his elbow. ”Hold my hand myrialor,” he says, taking her hand and bringing it up on the pillow next to her cheek, entwining her fingers in his. Her eyes are the blue of an impending storm and dart like those of rabbit caught in a snare. 

He kisses her tenderly, relaxing her. He waits, distracting her with the tip of his tongue, cajoling and placating her. When he feels the muscles in her belly ease and and hears a soft inhalation, he breaks the kiss and puts his lips to her ear. “I Love you Elora,” he reassures her before locking her down with his hips. He sinks her deep into the mattress. In one, swift thrust, he ruptures her. 

He buries her agonizing scream in his mouth and holds her there, letting her body adjust to his invasion. Her fingers clamp his hand, her knuckles white. Easing up on her mouth, he kisses each hiccupping sob waiting for her to recover. “I am sorry myri.” His voice is husky as he wipes the tears from her stained cheeks with his lips.

The crown of his staff is inside her now, pulsing and tormenting him. “Breathe Elora,” he says as he begins inching his way into her slowly, bit by bit and she takes him without a sound. When a small sigh falls from her and she moves underneath him, he stops to wait for her to acclimate to him again, but she pushes up. He releases her hips and is surprised when she stays with him. If it is breath, a whisper or a sound coming from her, he is not sure, but she starts rotating underneath him and it is all he can take.

He begins stroking her with his cock, moving in and out. Her pink flesh is hot and pinching, she is narrow everywhere he thinks. Picking up his rhythm, she catches his stride and rides in unison with him. 

She is humming underneath him now, incoherent words and sounds spilling from her mouth. Her hands move over him clutching, grasping and kneading him frantically. He kisses her eye lids and holds her face in his hand. Feeling the pulsing in her passage, he gauges her and when her gasping breaths match his thrusts and she rocks to meet each intrusion, he commands, “Look at me Elora.”

Her eyes are the blue of sapphires and he slips an arm beneath her and holds her on his length, grinding her. Her back arches and she lets out one astonished wail before he feels her splintering around him. Her body stiffens and stretches and she digs her fingers into his shoulders. When the tremors overtake her, he knows he is finishing her and he ravishes her mouth in his, swallowing each note of her exhilaration. He stays until he can move in her again without assailing her sensitive, recovering core.

He hisses in pleasure when he picks up his pace, probing her. She wraps her legs around his lower back and shifts her hip bones, Thranduil does not hold back his groan. She braces herself against him and tilts herself trying to pull more of him inside of her. He knows he is large, too large for any elleth to take all of him. “No myri,” he says breathlessly.

“Please,” she begs, all the while bringing him deeper into her. He tries to restrain himself but he is rendered helpless by her broken begging and pleading. He succumbs, knowing he will be completely wrecked if he does not claim her now. He lets her sheath him to his hilt and it wracks him.

Her long, narrow body was made for his. He pounds into her mercilessly, now taken by a hunger more formidable than any foe. She is flying beneath him again, convulsing, her head thrown back and he is given to treachery, driven to a place where he is no longer in control. “I love you, Thrandruil” she cries before she is taken, gripping the muscles of his arms, her surging walls squeezing him as she shatters around him again.

Her words blind and destroy him. His body quakes and the wet, hot waves of ecstasy coarse over him, then through him, and at their sharpest point, keep him for so long he shouts her name before he is completely released and gushing inside her.


	29. Chapter 29

Thranduil kisses Elorean breathlessly, repeating her name over and over again. He stays inside her, not wanting to let her go. When he feels himself starting to rally from his ruin, he gently pulls out from her and she flinches. Taking her in his arms he reaches his hand down between her legs and covers her softly “I am sorry myri, did I hurt you badly?” 

Eleron gives him a contented sigh in answer and burrows up next to him. He entwines her in his arms and legs and they both fall into a spent, exhausted slumber.

Tharien can only stop and stare. The new prisoner is an elleth, and not just any elleth. She is beautiful, so beautiful he cannot take his eyes off of her. When she looks up at him and smiles, he turns around to see if someone else is standing behind him. Her cheek is purple and bruised but the mark does nothing to diminish her. 

“What happened to you?” he asks, and then worries that the question sounds cold and dumb. But she stands up and walks over to him. 

“I was beaten.” Callistia forces up a tear then puts her hands on the bars of her cage. What is your name?” Her voice is soft and shy, but holds enough curiosity to cause the guard to think she is interested in him. 

The pair talk through most of the night. Tharien is reluctant to leave when his shift ends and the new guard comes to replace him.

Callistia has practiced the same routine with all of the guards. She has considered an overly interested one, but because he is pledged and has a young elfling, she cannot be certain that when the time comes, she will have his complete devotion.

Having carefully weighed all of her options and having measured each guard’s response to her efforts, she has finally decided. Tharien will be the one to help her get out of this place and dispose of Elorean for good. She feels a warm rush of excitement rising in her belly. Once Elorean is out of the picture, she can work on reclaiming her position with Thranduil.

He was her first, and she has had no other. Callistia's thoughts are always filled with him. She has been tending to him for years now. Her Mother, Gwinithial, makes the arrangements, seeing to it that when an order comes from the palace for a healer, Callistia is the one sent to him. 

He has rejected her suggestive advances. Sometimes he firmly, but gently removes her hands if she tries to sexually service him without asking if he requires her first. When the King requests a healer, it is only for a battle wound, a headache or something of that ilk, he has never requested anything else. She is certain this is because his attendants are trained to take care of his needs and they are always available to him.

She knows he appreciates her beauty and wants her. He told her once how lovely she was. Everyone always tells her she is beautiful. He has just been busy, perhaps planning a special time to pledge himself to her and make her Queen. 

She has already pledged herself to him. When it happened, Callistia was in his bed, waiting for him after the festival De Luna. The moon was full and the stars bright that night, she remembers. He had stayed at the festivities later than usual, he and Legolas lost in some deep conversation. She had slipped into his chamber and undressed. She took her hair down and loosened her braids and curled under his covers. 

He paused when he noticed her lying in his bed, and looked at his attendant who simply shrugged his shoulders and asked the King if he would like her removed. Thranduil had sighed and said no. After he was disrobed, he crawled into the bed beside her. 

She kissed him. His kiss was not at all sloppy like Tharien’s, but he pulled away quickly and mounted her. It was fast and painful. She had bit her lip and kept quiet. When he finished, he rolled off of her and told her to go to Legolas. 

Then he noticed the small blood stain on the sheets and became angry. He made her get dressed and sent her away that night, snapping at the guard to tell Gwinithiel not to send Naditu’s to his bed, especially those who are inexperienced. 

The next time she came to attend to him, he said nothing of their consummation, and Callistia knows he had not recognized her that night in the dark. That is why he told her to go to Legolas. 

She has always known, since she was young, she would be Queen of Mirkwood. To be the fairest of elves, it is a special gift. She has learned how to carry herself, balancing a book on her head for hours. She consults with the best seamstresses and knows what to wear, and what to say, to please the King. Most of her days are spent in beauty rituals, assuring her skin is unblemished and glowing. She has special lotions for her hair that make it shine. 

There are no supplies here, no fabric choices to make, no colors to pick to bring out her eyes. She thinks about Elorean’s eyes with envy. She has experimented with some bleaches in Elorean’s food to try and drain some of their color but nothing has worked. No matter how drab her attire or how mussed her hair, Elorean’s eyes always stand out. 

Callistia digs a carefully manicured fingernail into the fleshy part of her hand thinking how much she would enjoy clawing out those blue eyes that change like a kaleidoscope with Elorean’s moods. Her skin breaks and beads of blood emerge. She swipes them with her finger and smears the red liquid on her lips and then her cheeks.

Thranduil is watching Elorean sleep. Her hair is a tangled with white and blue flowers. Pushing a sprig of daises from her eyes, he whispers softly, “I love you Elora.” 

She stirs when the attendant comes in. Thranduil sees the servant staring at the bed, wide eyed and he looks down and lets out a quiet hiss. She has bled considerably. The blood is dark, not new, and he is relieved that she is not still bleeding from him. 

He watches her open her eyes, the blue of a still lake, and he smiles “Good morning myrialor.”

She smiles back sleepily at him. When she starts to sit up, he stops her, catching her face in his hands. He orders the attendant to bring two bathrobes, keeping her eyes with his. He kisses her deep and long when he lifts her from the bed, motioning to the attendant who quickly covers the blood under an unstained section of the comforter. 

The attendant is behind him nudging him with his robe and Thranduil realizes that they are both are painted in blood. He does not want her frightened. He quickly pulls his robe over himself and when Elorean starts to look down, he tilts her chin up and kisses her again while his attendant and wraps her in a robe.

Carrying her, Thranduil takes her to the pools and manages to slip off both of their coverings while holding her close and he has her in the water so fast she is clutching onto him. “You are in a hurry today.” Elorean says bemused. Thranduil is being soft and gentle with her, but rushing her at the same time.

"I have work to do today Elorean" he says, and it is true, he does. She wraps her arms around him and straddles him in the pool. This time, she kisses him and runs her hands over his wet skin. He is certain now, that she will be the death of him. He has to put her down and hold her hands before she goes any further. “No Elorean.”

Seeing the look of hurt and confusion cross her face he says gently “You need some time to heal myri.”

“I’m okay.” Elorean says reaching out for him again, trying to ignore the burning between her legs.

Thranduil pulls her in and kisses her forehead with a short laugh. “I would not injure you further Elora.” He calls over the attendant to take her. Tugging a little, blue forget me not from her hair he hands it to her and he kisses he for a long moment before his lips travel to her ear and he whispers “We have all the time in the world myri.” He grins at her, with that confident, knowing smirk that leaves her completely unnerved before withdrawing from her and exiting.

Elorean watches him step out of the pool, water sliding off the perfect angles and lines of his body, his long silver hair, wet at the ends, sticking to his broad shoulders and she sighs.

When he returns to his chamber, the bed has been changed and he regretfully allows a servant to assist him in dressing for a meeting. He wants nothing more then to stay with her. Leaving detailed instructions for her care, and most importantly for her security, he makes it clear, Elorean is Mirkwood’s new Queen and is to be handled as such. 

Weeping on Tharien’s shoulder, Callistia lets him wipe her tears and kiss her. She has spent her nights with the prison guard for many moons, weaving her tale of sorrow. She has told him of Elorean’s potions and how she is poisoning their King. Now that she is certain he is to be the one, tonight will be the night she begins to set her plan in motion.

“Tharien, the evil enchantress has the King under a dark spell. We must help him.” She adds a couple of sobs that make her abundant breasts rise and fall under his leering eyes. “I want to give myself to you so much, but we cannot pledge ourselves to one another until we know Mirkwood is safe.”

Callistia puts her hand on Tharien’s thigh and rubs up and down its length. She stops near his groin and squeezes. The bulge in his pants surges.

“If it were not for you, I could not have survived one night in this dungeon. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were the one. You are my hero.” She looks up at him, batting her eyelashes. 

Tharien is breathing hard. Their nightly cell kissing is more fervent tonight and she let him reach up and touch her breast for a moment before moving his hand away. 

Callistia puts her hand on Tharien’s chest and looks up at him fearfully. ”She has been summoned by the Dark Lord. She wishes to claim our lands and all of the King’s wealth for her master. She will see us all dead.” 

Tharien wants her so badly. He has not had much success with elleths. He has never before been told he is handsome like she says he is, never has he been touched the way she touches him. He loves her. “I would die for you Callistia,” he says raising his hand to her breast again. 

“You are so strong Tharien.” Callistia runs her fingers over the muscles of his arms and lets him grope her chest. “I know you are the one who is going to save Mrikwood. Just think, when the King finds out what you have done, he will make you a Captain. He will reward you with wealth and power….and you will have me.” 

Callistia takes his hand off of her chest, opens his fingers and presses her lips to his palm and she can feel him shudder. She knows she has him now. He will do anything she asks.


	30. Chapter 30

Elorean stares at the pastel, decorated gown lain out on the bed for her. “May I help you dress My Lady?” the ever so helpful servant asks. 

“No. Well yes, can I have my other clothes please?”

The attendant bows and briefly steps into the closet. He emerges with her black leggings and tunic, bringing a smile to Elorean’s face.

The attendant does not leave the room for her to dress and she turns, glowering at him. He bows and walks just outside the door, leaving it open a crack. The constant presence of the servants is annoying and still embarrassing to her, Elorean wonders if she will ever get used to them. 

She sets out to find Aleial and is disappointed to discover her room unoccupied. Turning to go back, she plows into the attendant who is standing directly behind her and she jumps and curses. 

“I beg your pardon My Lady,” he says backing up. “The King has ordered that you eat breakfast, it is being delivered to your room now.”

Elorean lets out an exasperated sigh. “Oh he did, did he?”

“Follow me please, “the attendant says, politely. 

“Breakfast fit for a King, “she mumbles, walking into the room and seeing the colorful spread.

“For a Queen My Lady.” The attendant bows and Elorean laughs, but then she stops at stares at him. He is serious. 

She nibbles a few berries, lost in thought. Queen? It is not something she has even considered and the possibility brings a wave of queasiness. She needs to get some fresh air. 

“I am going out, “she announces to the servant, presumably waiting to wipe her face with a napkin when she finishes eating, she thinks with a smirk, shaking her head.

“Regretfully My Lady, The King has ordered that you stay here today.”

“Oh really?” she turns to the servant, her eyes flashing. The attendant simply bows in the affirmative. 

“He has provided you with some reading materials that he believes will be of interest to you, My Lady.” 

Elorean cocks her head at the servant, her irritation evident.

“Please follow me.” Elorean follows, grumbling under her breath.

“What was that My Lady?”

“Nothing.” 

“Yes My Lady.” he nods again, politely, and begins leading her down a hallway. 

She mouths “My Lady, My Lady, My Lady,” silently behind him making a face all the way down the corridor. She wonders how well he handles a sword should she decide to make a break for it. Unfortunately the attendant did not retrieve her weapon with her clothing and she has a feeling that was no accident.

Taking a key from his belt, he opens an intricately cut, stone door, stands at attention, and holds it open for her. 

Elorean steps into the room and audibly gasps. “The King’s library, My Lady.” The servant smiles at her, looking both pleased and relieved with her reaction.

Elorean has never seen so many books in one place. The shelves extend all the way up to the high vaulted ceilings and sliding ladders are attached to each section. She steps into the room, turning around and taking it in 

“The King has personally selected several volumes for you here,” the attendant says, leading Elorean to a table in the corner of the room. He bows and pulls out a chair. Elorean suppresses the urge to tell him to stop bowing.

There are three stacks of leather bound books, brittle and cracked. The attendant hands her a thin pair of white gloves. “The manuscripts are artifacts, they are very delicate My Lady.” 

Elorean slips the gloves on and pulls the top book off the first stack. Opening it carefully, she reads the print on the title page, “Aromatic, Hallucinogenic Herbology.” 

“If you require further materials or assistance, the librarian is at your service.” Elorean doesn’t look up, she just nods her head, already immersed in the text. 

Hours pass and they feel like minutes. The medical information in these texts makes her mind spin with possibilities. It is as if a whole new world has appeared before her. Her fingers are cramping from note taking and she is seeing double by the time the attendant comes to retrieve her. 

“King Thranduil requests that you join him for lunch now My Lady.” 

Elorean is in the middle of a compelling medical debate on the appropriate uses of the powerful, yet toxic herb, Belladonna, complete with carefully documented case studies and she is not ready to stop just yet.

“I will be done shortly,” she answers. 

Elorean resists the urge to take the attendant down when he shuts her book and says, ever so politely, “The King requests your presence now, My Lady.”

She is fuming behind him as he leads her to the King's audience chamber and thinks Thranduil was right not to allow her a blade. His devoted attendant might be lying disemboweled on the Library floor right now if he had chosen otherwise. 

It has been a long morning of negotiations, prolonged by a few uncooperative tradesmen. Thranduil calls for lunch and for Elorean to be brought to him. They have only been apart for a few hours, but it feels too long. 

When the attendant opens the door and holds it for her to enter, Thranduil smiles at the impending storm in her eyes. He finds her particularly beautiful when she is angry. He gives the attendant an appreciative nod, knowing what the poor elf has probably been through this morning and dismisses him.

“I am informed you did not each much this morning Elorean.” He watches her eyes travel to his sword with a look of longing and her raises his brows at her and suppresses a grin.

“What did you eat?” she snaps back at him, currents of blue electricity sparking in her eyes. His smile of amusement is infuriating to Elorean.

“Perhaps Callistia would be of better service to you My Lord, no doubt she would be happy to eat anything you feed her.”

Thranduil’s countenance grows dark at the mention of the witch in his dungeons he has yet to dispose of. 

“It seems we are both your prisoners.”

Thranduil walks around her, and begins to herd her with his imposing stature and poise. He turns her around,forcing her to walk backwards without uttering a word. 

She hits the bottom base of the stairs leading up to his throne and stops. He moves in and backs her up the first step without having touched her once. 

“You are not my prisoner Elorean,” he says, his eyes piercing into hers, pushing her up another stair.

“Yet I cannot leave your rooms,” she says embolden by the fact that, on the second stair, she is standing above him.

“You may leave Elorean, when I am with you.”

Elorean stops and crosses her arms but he comes up another step and she backs up accordingly.

“There are dark forces at work Elorean. Danger lurks everywhere. I will keep you safe.”

“I do not wish to kept My Lord.” Elorean sneers, but she takes another backward step up as he advances upon her.

“Then you will eat and regain your strength myrialor. You will train with me, you will ride with me, you will learn how to walk through fire and endure.” Thranduil keeps moving her up, step by step 

“In my pretty, new skirts, My Lord?”

Thranduil has her at his throne now. He tries to stifle a smile and finds he cannot.

“Queen for a day and already too big for your britches.” He pulls her leggings and undergarments down to her knees before she can grasp his wrists. When she does, he uses her own weight shift her to a seated position between the massive antlers encompassing his throne.

Elorean sits, momentarily stunned at hearing the word Queen again, giving Thranduil the advantage. He quickly whisks away her boots and leggings. 

He kneels down on the platform of his throne in front of her and wraps his hand around the back of her neck. Pulling her to him, his mouth consumes hers. His hands grasp her ankles and he splays her legs over the armrests of the royal chair. He shifts her bottom forward he leans her body back. 

His fingers open her and begin gently circling her swollen place. As he pulls away from the kiss to look at her, he sees the shifting winds pass over her eyes. His fingers flick and cross her.

“You can have anything you want Elora,” he circles her and pinches her in a long stroke.

“Is this what you want?” Her body is moving with his fingers.

“Yes” she rasps, clinging to him. 

He pries first one of her hands and then the other from his arms, placing them on the long, thin horns that extend past the lower portion of his thrown and he moves down on her.

He spreads her slit far apart with his fingers, exposing her completely. Holding her open, he kisses her inner thighs. When he moves to her silken wings, she is hot and wet under his tongue, her sweet taste tinged with the iron rawness of the previous night’s wreckage. Still, she courses and sparks under his licking. 

He covers every inch of her, drenching her with his mouth, but for her crux which he leaves streaming, bared and untouched. 

Breathing a hot rush of air on her, he feels her shudder and she calls out his name. He answers.

“Yes myri, what do you want?”

“Please,” she whimpers, gripping the pointed antlers and raising her hips.

He kisses her velvet pink again, lashing her with his tongue and every fiber of her core strains as his mouth performs a well-choreographed dance around it. 

She entwines her fingers in his hair, moving him to her pulsing clit. “Here,” she whimpers, “Please here.”

He takes her in his mouth and licks her long and hard and she cries out.

“Is this what you want myri?’ 

“Yes! Yes!” she begs "Please!"

His tongue runs the length of her again before it seeks her need. He latches to her and sucks her in. His teeth find the base of her pleasure and gently bite while his fingers massage and stroke her. 

Her short gasping moans and long cries echo through the stone walls of his hall as he works her. 

He completely seals her in his mouth and pulls her throbbing place in with his tongue, rhythmically increasing the intensity, coaxing her to new heights.

The light radiates through her before Elorean is slammed and overtaken by the waves that shake her and leave her free falling and calling his name.

When the tide recedes, she finds herself in his arms, she cannot catch her breath and she starts crying. 

Thranduil holds her, kissing her forehead. “Shhhhhhh, It is okay myri. I have you. I am sorry. I should not have left you today,” He wraps her in his robe, knowing how overwhelming all of this must be for her and he lifts and carries her down the stairs and through the door.

“Cancel my remaining appointments,” Thranduil says, as he passes his political liaison in the hallway.

“But Thranduil, Lord Vytimer is expected this afternoon, “the startled assistant says.

“He can wait.”

“Yes, My Lord,”

Callistia has everything she needs now. Tharien has secured their supplies and all of the preparations have been made. Tomorrow will be Elorean's last night in Mirkwood, her last night with Thranduil, her last night among the living. She smiles in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had problems posting this chapter, this is the final draft, looks like I had the unedited one up first. My apologies, gremlins or too much wine.


	31. Chapter 31

Thranduil carries Elorean to his room. He strokes her hair and whispers to her, but she does not calm. Cradling her in his arms, he rocks her and lets her cry. 

Coming into the room, Aleial stops short, seeing her sobbing friend wrapped in the King’s robe in his lap. She spots the vial she gave Elorean peeking out from under the bed and she retrieves it, setting it on the bed stand. She leaves, giving the King a bow of her head and a backward glance. 

Elorean quiets and Thranduil thinks her sleeping, but when he brushes the hair out of her eyes, they are open, placid puddles of turquoise blue. He tilts her chin up to look at him and she raises her mouth to his and kisses him.

“What troubles you myrialor?” he asks, pulling away. Elorean sniffles.

“I should not be here, I was not here to be a Queen.” Thranduil takes in a sharp breath realizing he should have discussed this with her first.

“I know of her, your Queen, of her beauty and her grace.”

“Yes,” he says wiping her tear stained cheek. “You remind me more of my Mother myrialor. She was a warrior, and also the daughter of a healer.” 

Elorean looks up at him. “What happened to her?” She knows by the look on his face, the question pains him.

“She was killed. Dragon fire.”

“Is that when you were burned?” It is the first time Elorean has ever seen Thranduil turn his eyes away like this.

“Yes. I could not save her.”

Elorean runs an open palm on the side of his chest where she knows his burns are. She shifts herself up and kisses him again while unbuttoning his shirt. Putting her hands on him, she reads him, finding the hidden scars and immersing herself into him. 

Thranduil thinks to stop her, but when she kisses him, he is lulled, almost hypnotized by the flow of warm energy emanating from her. He closes his eyes and sees colors, blue first, then deep purple, then the reds, spreading, blending and shifting behind his eyelids. 

At one point he senses her hands on his face, the softest impression of her fingers on his eye. In places, it feels like her touch goes inside him, as if she has penetrated his skin and is delving deep into his tissues, sinew and muscles. He has never known a healer to work this way before, layering, mending and restoring.

When he opens his eyes she is standing behind him with her hands on his back and the attendant is wheeling in the dinner cart. Hours have passed. 

Elorean feels him breaking from the trance. She slowly pulls her energy from him, not wanting to jerk him awake. He turns and looks at her with an awestruck expression. She gently rubs his shoulders before letting him go.

“I am starving,” she says looking at the food. Thranduil realizes they did not partake in the lunch he had summoned her to earlier in the day. He stands up and turns to her.

Her tunic extends to her mid thighs and her creamy white, long legs are still devoid of her leggings. She is barefoot. Elorean looks down at herself, “Can I have my pants back?”

“No,” he says, grinning, and he takes her hand and leads her to the spread of food the servant is arranging. 

“May I serve you My Lady?” the attendant asks, as if it perfectly natural for her to be taking her dinner absent of her bottoms. Elorean suppresses the urge to smack him. 

She tucks a naked leg underneath her at the table in Thranduil’s room. She does not wait for the King to begin eating first, as is customary. 

Thranduil smiles watching her take a fork full of nutted rice into her mouth, devouring it hungrily. He has never seen her eat more than a taste or a nibble. He pours her a goblet of wine and dismisses the servant. 

Elorean finishes her plate, avoiding the stewed rabbit, he notices, talking nonstop about the books he provided for her in the library today. He refills her goblet twice. A warm glow fills him at seeing her so animated and engaged with him, like she was with the guard at the gate. “Thank you Thranduil, “she says. The sincerity of her appreciation for the books stirs his blood. 

They complete their meal with fresh baked cherry strudel pie, topped with a vanilla bean, frozen cream. He watches her eat it with fascination. When she sucks a bit of the cream off of her finger tips he feels himself crumbling inside.

The servant comes to clear the meal, still ignoring Elorean’s lack of proper attire. He delivers another decanter of wine and two fresh goblets.  
“Will that be all My Lord?” he asks, addressing Thranduil.

“Yes, that will be all.” 

Thranduil takes in a deep sigh, looking into her eyes, now violet blue. “You need to rest Elorean.” He kisses her forehead and moves as if he is going to leave. She grabs his hand, pulls him back to her and stands on her toes to kiss him. He groans. 

“Elora, you need to heal.” 

“You said I can have anything I want.”

Thranduil is prying her from him. “Elora, I cannot hurt you.”

“Don’t go,” she says clutching onto him.

“I cannot stay, Elorean I do not trust……” 

She stops his words with her kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and straddling him as she did in the pool that morning. 

He pulls his lips from hers and buries his face in her shoulder. 

“I want to feel you inside me,” Elorean says breathlessly.

“No myri, I would hurt you now.” 

“There is more,” she says, placing her feet on the floor and pulling him to the bed.“Aleial has told me there is more.”

Thranduil is stricken by her suggestion and feels his resistance faltering. He gives her a warning look.

“That will hurt too myri, perhaps more than the first.”

“Or not,” she says, reeling him in. 

He closes his eyes cursing Aleial under his breath, not sure if Elorean is at all ready for this.

He lifts her tunic over her head and she stands before him naked. He is still debating and she is trembling, beautifully trembling. He is grateful that he was generous with her wine tonight. 

“Turn around, he commands and Elorean obeys.

He wraps himself around her from behind and lifts her breasts in his palms, they are fuller than most elleths. His fingers tease and twist her nipples. They grow red and rigid beneath his prodding. He wants her to know this will be hard. 

She responds, pushing her bared bottom into him. He is enlarged and stiff beneath his pants. He pushes her down on the bed and massages her, starting at her shoulders and working down, taking his time. She will need to be loose and lax to take him. 

He turns her over in front of him and she is serene, her tranquil blue eyes hold no ripples. He rubs his thumb over her mouth and then leans in and kisses her, bruising her pink lips until they are shaded dark.

She is so beautiful in her arousal, mouth parted, hair spun in golden disarray around her face. Her eyes are a blazing blue now and her chocolate rose nipples stand erect. He stops to watch her for a moment and has the feeling he is treading on sacred ground. 

Pulling a pillow from the top of the bed, he places it under her lower back and props up her hips. He takes Aleial’s vial from the bed stand. If he has any hesitation, the wanton look in her eyes moves him to grant her any forbidden desire. 

He hopes Aleial’s bedroom secrets came from experience and were not just silly elleth talk. He hopes that Elorean has been well informed as to what she has gotten herself into. 

He places her ankles over his shoulders, he is still fully dressed, this is purposeful. He wants to be able to stop himself should she decide to flee from this like a scared rabbit. He watches her closely as he prepares her, resigning himself to offer her a way out if she regrets her choice, he knows how impulsive she can be. 

He parts her low, where the roundness of her buttocks begin, she whimpers and her mouth opens, inviting him in. He pours the oil in her crevice and glides his fingers between her. He braces his legs against the mattress and leans in and separating her further. 

She moves to meet him. His anointed finger slides through her budding, rippled entrance. He stares down at her. Her innocent passion and yearning is written on her flush stained cheeks. Her full, dusky tipped breasts are rising and falling heavily with each breath. He begins to worry whether he will be able to hold himself back if she is has gotten herself in over her head.

He massages her tender area before breaching her. Slicking her heavily in the oil, he twists his finger in her cavern to ensure she is saturated. She moans and he rests a hand on her hip bone to keep her from wriggling. She is panting and grasping at the sheets now. He places another finger at her opening a slowly eases it in. 

She squirms, pushing his fingers deeper. His feels a pressure building inside him, a fiery inferno stoking his soul. The constriction of his pants is painful. He sets a third finger at her ring and stretches it as he invades her dark abyss. Her eyes grow wide and she cries out, but still she moves to take his fingers further. 

He draws them from her and empties the remaining oil on them before besieging her, driving in all three fingers at once. She flinches at the invasion but takes them all with a soft whimper and her fists clasp the sheets beneath her. Still, she does not shy away from him.

He lets her legs down and stands her up, kissing her deeply, he removes his pants. When he is done, he positions her on the bed, belly down, pulling her hips up, until she is on her knees and her face is buried in the fluffed pillows.

He thinks to run an oiled hand over himself to make this easier on her and he spreads her bottom, exposing all of her. He traces her twitching, reddened ring with his finger and then leans in and teases it with his tongue while reaching in two fingers to strum her clit. The astonished cry of dismay she makes causes his cock to jerk. 

He works her, dragging her clit with his fingers, and grazing her backside with his tongue. Soft, thrill filled gasps and cries spill from her, muffled by the pillows. He flicks and captures her core drawing her up. With the tip of his tongue, he kindles the ridges of a dark desire. He entices her to ascend, elevating her, and when she begins to surrender to his fondling, he harnesses her fervor and reins it in, leading her higher. 

At her crisis point, she is weeping and wrought with tremors. He places his dripping crown at the apex of her deepest valley, between the white mounds of her buttocks. 

He feels the first pulse of her bliss under his fingers that are still mastering her crux and he dives into her. She jolts and screams, throwing her head back. He takes her hair in his hand to steady her through the peril of her colliding pain and pleasure. He thrusts into her again, this time deeper, filling her. She is struggling to breathe, repeatedly taking in short gulps of air without exhaling. Every muscle in her body goes taut and she freezes. Her clit is pulsing in his fingers and it too goes rigid and hard at his thrust. 

“Let go myri. It will be okay, let go. I will catch you,” he sooths. 

He feels her loosen and, as soon as she does, she is wraithing and wailing in billowing convulsions. He whispers to her in elvish, guiding her through the profound rhapsody of being completely helpless, stung, and impaled on him, while simultaneously violating the boundaries of the most intense pleasure she has ever known.

He thrusts up and in on the next stroke and her walls clench him. He has to steel himself to wait for her, he has not finished with her yet. He plunges his full length into her knowing she is paying a price for the sweet ecstasy she is enduring in taking all of him so hard. He feels her snap and fracture as she cascades in torrents from her pinnacle. 

Her contractions force his implosion. He feels his heat boil to the surface, each surge igniting and churning him to climax. His final eruption is a violent explosion and he roars, his sound fusing with hers in a chorus of transcendence, as his thick, hot magma shoots into her. 

He pulls from her and rubs his fingers over her. She is swollen, but unharmed and he wills himself from his delirium to care for her. He takes her down into his arms. She shivers and her body fights to regulate and regain equilibrium. She calls his name.

“I am here Elora, I have you.”

“Don't leave tonight,” she says clutching onto him, her breathing still ragged.

“I am not going anywhere myrialor.” 

“I love you Thranduil.”

“I love you more Elora, more than anything.”


	32. Chapter 32

Growing impatient, Callistia paces, wearing a path in her cell. Tharien is not the brightest of elves and has a bad habit of dipping into the wine too much. He has promised not to drink tonight, this is too important. Now she wonders if she would have been wiser to allow him a bit of liquid courage.

In a stroke of luck, she has learned the King is being called out by his forces on the western border where several disturbances are occurring. This will eliminate the one unknown in her plan, what to do if the King is with Elorean.

She has mulled the possibility over and over in her mind and has concluded, they would just have to delay if this is the case. Still, she doubts Thranduil spends much time with Elorean, he probably just uses her and leaves, as is his habit.

But now, she need not worry. No delays will be necessary. Good thing, too. Another night in the prison is an unbearable thought, it has been trying waiting this long, but she knows the value of careful planning. She thinks of her Mother. The King has separated them, but she will free Gwinethiel after the culmination of her plans, when she claims her rightful position at Thranduil’s side.

Thranduil is awake before Elorean. She is lying in the middle of the bed, pushing him toward the edge. Her left arm is thrown over her head haphazardly and her right is lying across his chest. She has all of the covers.

One breast is peeking out from the sheets and he starts there, wrapping his hand around the soft flesh and squeezing gently, then swirling her nipple with his tongue. Elorean wakes up slowly. He nips and pulls, teething her, and now she is wide awake. He latches and sucks and she moans and rolls to him.

“Good morning myri,” he says, before locking her lips in his. Elorean buries her hands in his hair and runs it through her fingers. The breakfast cart arrives and the sweet scent of sugared maple fills the room. The servant stands and waits patiently while the couple exchanges their morning greeting.

“Are you in pain Elora?” Thranduil asks, breaking the kiss.

“I’m fine.”

He looks down at her and searches her eyes with a look of concern. He worries that he has taken her too far, too fast and silently vows to slow things down for her. The servant brings Thranduil his robe and he steps out of the bed, fully nude. Elorean admires him from her strategic position.

Having grown up with a brother and his best friend, her cousin Luthaniel, who moved in when his parents died, just when Elorean turned eight, she is not a complete stranger to the masculine physique. She has seen a male body before. As Thranduil slips the robe over the long, symmetrical angles of his flexing form, Elorean sighs. His body is a work of art, a masterpiece, she thinks.

“My Lord!”

Elorean’s absorption with what lies underneath Thranduil’s robe is disrupted.

“We have received word from Feren, his company is battling two packs of Orcs and they have encountered a band of Trolls. They are requesting reinforcement.”

“Assemble my company,” Thranduil orders.

“Yes My Lord.”

Thranduil turns and sits on the side of the bed. “Elorean, promise me you will stay here while I am gone. I need to know you will be safe when I am away, “he says, taking her hand in his.

“Am I never allowed outside these walls on my own?” she asks petulantly.

“Yes, Elorean. But not now. Not yet. You are thin and weak. You need to regain your strength.” He brushes her hair out of her eyes. “ I will teach you to fight any adversary and prevail. I will train you myself. But until then, I need you to give me your word that you will obey me. I cannot lose you.”

Elorean nods.

“Say it.” His eyes are intimidating and hold no hint of warmth.

“I will stay here until you come back, I promise.”

He nods, relaxing somewhat.

“You have full access to my library and the servants are at your disposal, use them.”

Elorean looks at him questioningly.

“Perhaps tell them what you want for lunch and it is yours. Eat Elorean.”

His hand caresses her cheek and he kisses her deeply. “I will return by midnight.”

“I will be here,” she vows and Thranduil pulls her to him once again. He whispers in her ear.

“I love you Elora.”

He is gone before he can hear her whisper it back to him.

Elorean eats thick chunks of sweet watermelon and the juice drips down her chin, making her feel sticky. She eats a maple bun with pecans too, which seems to please the attendant immensely. She heads to the pools for a bath. She surprises herself when she actually allows the servant to wash her hair and wrap her in a warm towel.

She again refuses the gown that is laid out for her on the bed and opts for her leggings and tunic that always appear, laundered and pressed, at her request.

Heading to the library, the walls around her feel dark and confining and she wishes she had not promised Thranduil she would stay inside. She longs to see the light of day and feel the breeze on her face.

The sense of being trapped quickly abates, however, as she dons the white gloves and loses herself in her reading. When the attendant interrupts to tell her it is time for lunch, she scarcely can believe the morning has passed, but she feels hungry and acquiesces without a quarrel. She is led back to the King’s room to eat in solitude. It feels lonely with Thranduil gone.

“No rabbit My Lady,” the attendant says, serving her a ball of greens. She touches the top of the globe with her fork and it opens, spreading over her plate like a blooming flower. Inside are beets, pine nuts and wheat berries. The attendant sets a cruet of raspberry tinged oil next to her and pours her a goblet of wine. She eats almost all of it and he looks pleased.

Elorean yawns and the servant suggests a nap. Elorean agrees, feeling suddenly exhausted, perhaps from the wine.

The servant turns back the bed and she sits down on it. He removes her boots. As he continues to undress her, she resists.

“You will rest more comfortably in this My Lady,” he says, handing her a folded night shift. She sighs and allows him to help her strip. She lifts her arms and he pushes the nightgown over her head as if she is a child. He unfastens the top button for her, loosening the neckline. When she lies down, he covers her.

“Well aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?” she asks sarcastically. The servant bows in and kisses the top of her head.

“Goodnight My Lady.” Elorean giggles and the servant does too and she thinks that perhaps, someday, they just might get along.

As the servant is leaving she asks “What is your name?”

“Bastian My Lady,” he replies with a bow.

“Thank you Bastian.” He bows again, with a smile, and takes his leave.

Elorean falls into a deep, afternoon rest easily. She dreams only of herbs and tinctures, the pages of the books she has been reading coming back to her in her sleep.

It is growing dark out when she is shaken abruptly.

“Elorean! Elorean!” Bolting upright in the bed she sees a guard standing over her. She recognizes him from her time in the prison.

“I have an urgent message for you!” He hands her a paper and she opens it, rubbing her eyes and trying to orientate herself.

_Elorean,_  
_Present to the prison immediately. The Dwarf, Leonin, has taken a drastic_  
_turn for the worse and is near death. The treatments being used are to no avail._  
_He may not survive the hour. Your help is urgently required._

The signature is a scribble. She cannot read who the note is from. Elorean crawls from the bed.

”Please send in my attendant,” she says to the guard.

“There is no time, we must go now!” He is almost shouting.

“I cannot go,” Elorean says, “But I will send a healer with instructions to treat him.” This is one time Elorean actually wishes Bastian would materialize at her door unbidden.

She has studied the curse of the pox in Dwarves ad nauseam during her time in the King’s library. She is certain Aleial will be able to administer a new combination of herbs that will be Leonin’s best chance at surviving. She can help Leonin without breaking her promise to Thranduil. Remembering his face this morning, she knows that her promise to him was a sacred agreement between them and no matter what, she cannot break her vow to him.

“Elorean, there is no time, you must come now!” the guard says grabbing her arm.

She jerks away from him thinking it wrong, now that she is fully awake, that he is addressing her by her first name and that he is being so forceful.

Tharien sees this is not going according to plan. Callistia was confident Elorean would rush directly to the prison upon hearing her Dwarf friend was on the brink of death. He feels panic rising in his throat like bile.

Elorean turns to grab her clothing, feeling exposed in her thin shift. Tharien seizes the moment. He pulls his dagger and brings the hilt down hard on Elorean’s head. It makes a sickening thud as it meets her skull, and she crumbles to the floor.

Lifting her, Tharien hoists her over his shoulder and lugs her through a secluded, back passage to an exit door. He has to stop once, setting her against the wall to catch his breath. Her propped form slides off the wall and her head lands hard on the stone floor. Blood seeps out around her. Tharien does not hear the soft ping of a button hitting the ground when he lifts her again.

It is dusk now and the lack of light works in his favor. He discards Elorean roughly in a corner behind a bin, just outside the prison. For a moment he stares at her closely, trying to see if she is breathing, but it makes him feel queasy, so he leaves her. He heads into the prison, attempting to appear casual, wiping the sweat from his brow with the corner of his sleeve.

Callistia is furious upon seeing him without Elorean.

“Shhhh!” he says to her in a whisper. “She is outside, she would not come. I think she might be dead.”

“What?” Callistia hisses.

“She refused to come, she said she would send another healer. I hit her but I think I might have cracked her skull, I don’t know. I didn't want to check, in case she might really be ….dead.”

Callistia quiets, thinking, but quickly comes to the realization there is no time craft an alternative plan.

“Let us be gone!” she snaps at him in a hushed tone.

The pair slink out of the prison, going to where Tharien has hidden Elorean. He drags her from behind the bin by her ankles. Her limp body makes a sweeping sound on the rock.

“Is she still alive?” Tharien asks.

Callistia checks and finds her still breathing, but the head injury is severe and she is not sure Elorean is ever going to wake up.

“Yes, for now. We must move quickly!” Callistia orders.

Tharien has secured two horses just beyond the bend in a patch of trees. He finds them grazing nonchalantly, their ears rotate and their tails switch as he approaches. Callistia watches him trip as he tries to loose them and grab a bridle.

They bring Elorean to a horse, struggling under her dead weight. Throwing her over the rump of Tharien’s mount, they ride hurriedly to the gate. Callistia is forced to make several decisions in quick succession. Going to the gate like this was not what she had intended.

She has been poisoning the Dwarf for days now, he is severely ill. She planned to subdue Elorean by threatening the life of her precious Dwarf, Leonin. She would force them to leave the prison together. Elorean would talk her way through Luthaniel at the gate with the ailing Dwarf in tow. This was their ticket out. They will not be able to pass Luthaniel without her.

Tharien was to hide in the trees with an arrow trained at the guard’s head. If Elorean gave him any indication something was amiss, Luthaniel would be speared instantly.

After Elorean and the Dwarf had made it past the gate, Tharien and Callistia were to follow under the guise of catching the culprits of the prison break. The King would believe Elorean had escaped with his prisoner again and her betrayal would break any bonds they had forged during Callistia’s imprisonment.

The King would be pleased by Callistia’s brave, dedicated efforts to stop the treasonous Elorean. Of course, the Dwarf,Tharien and Elorean would all meet a tragic fate in the forest, but Callistia would survive with a few cuts and bruises and Thranduil would make her Queen. Then she would take her rightful place by his side.

Now Elorean is unconscious and they have no Dwarf. She is just going to have to improvise. She trusts her ability to come up with a meaningful alternate plan to win the King's favor once they have cleared the gate.

Luthaniel hops down from his post seeing the approaching elves, but he quickly realizes something is wrong.

“Ellie?” he says in shock, running to the back of the horse. Her hair is matted in blood, but she lifts her head and opens her eyes upon hearing Luthaniel call her name.

Through the fog, Elorean sees Luthaniel and she reaches out to him. Then she sees the elf that was in her room behind him. The prison guard lifts his sword and she hears the swoosh of steel cutting through air. She screams and the world goes black again.

Thranduil returns after dark. In addition to two large packs of Orcs, there was a band of trolls crossing the western border of Mirkwood. One straggler escaped and they were forced to take an extra hour hunting it down.

He is anxious to wash off the filth of battle and return to Elorean. The commotion in his Halls as he enters catches him unaware. All is usually quiet at this hour. He is informed by a breathless guard that the servants are searching for Elorean. She has disappeared after saying she would be taking a nap.

Thranduil feels a shift inside, as if parts of him are moving and a great upheaval is about to occur.

In his room, his bed is unmade. A lone sheet of paper rests on the rumpled covers. He reaches for it and inhales, steeling himself before reading it. It is a request, a request for her to go to the prison, for the Dwarf.

Thranduil lets the paper drop to the floor. She gave him her word. She promised him she would be here when he returned today. Her betrayal cuts through him like a searing knife. He is simultaneously gripped with a momentous, jarring fear for her safety. 

His conflicting emotions converge inside him. When they strike together, his heart bends, faults, then splits. It feels that inside his chest, is a mountain of jagged, stone cold rocks.

He turns on his heel, his eyes icier than the frozen arctic, and barks out commands for his guards to follow him to the prison.


	33. Chapter 33

Callistia recoils as Luthaniel’s blood sprays across her skirt, making a soft rustling sound. She looks away from his nearly decapitated corpse in revulsion. It is unfortunate, he could have been spared had Elorean just cooperated.

Callistia has always liked Luthaniel. He has shown her the respect she deserves, looking at her appreciatively and clamoring to be helpful, in his simple way, when he is in her presence. She is sad that he has met such a regrettable end.

Her stomach lurches to see his head hanging by a bone, in strange juxtaposition to the rest of his body. She wishes she had not seen the look in his eyes as Tharien’s blade crossed his throat. He did not want to die. She hopes Elorean saw it too before she blacked out again, that it haunts her unconsciousness. 

Elorean has always been the thorn in Callistia’s side, since they were young. It was Elorean’s Mother who was the matriarch of the healers then, and even though Callistia was the beautiful one, Elorean was always calling attention to herself with her made up “skills.” 

She was never a good healer though, always trying new things, breaking the rules and making concoctions, trying to show off and be better than everyone else. The only reason she was given any attention at all was because of her Mother. And that woman actually encouraged her!

All of that changed when Elorean’s Mother left for Valinor and Gwinithiel became the one in charge. She elevated Callistia to her rightful spot in the healing community and kept Elorean in her place. Gwinithiel had always cautioned Elorena’s mother about letting her daughter be so out of control. 

Callistia sighs. Her Mother had tried her best to rein Elorean in and cleanse her of her spoiled nature, to no avail. And now Luthaniel is dead because Elorean dug in her heels and insisted on being the King’s Naditu when the position had clearly been delegated to Callistia. 

“Hurry Up!” she yells as Tharien drags Luthaniel’s body into the brush, covering it. Callistia wants get as far away from the King’s palace as she can before finishing off Elorean. Tharien will have to go too. Then she will prepare to return to the King.

She is already contriving a new saga in her mind to explain away Elorean’s demise and pave her way to Thranduil’s side. It is an epic tale of betrayal. She has been kidnapped by Tharien and Elorean after overhearing the lover’s conspiring to assassinate the King from her prison cell. Elorean has orchestrated the entire plot and has enticed the befuddled guard into believing she loves him. She seduced the King by using her potions to blind him from her treachery. 

The King will be enamored by Callistia’s valor and bravery when he learns she has killed his would be assassins and clawed her way back to him though the imminent dangers of the wild forest. 

Thranduil storms into the prison. It is unguarded and Callistia’s cell is empty. The Dwarf is lying prone in his cot, looking none too well and this is disturbing. Upon the last report, the Dwarf was near a full recovery. 

“They took her south,” the Dwarf croaks when he sees the King. “I heard them.” Thranduil stares at the Dwarf for a moment, wondering if he can be trusted, then simply nods his head and departs with his guards, ordering the trackers to begin their search to the south. His cool demeanor betrays none of the destructive forces at work within him. He is in command.

Elorean has been awake for an hour now. Each lurch of the horse sends jolts of pain through her head like white lightening. Her fingers tingle and her arms feel as though a thousand needles are pricking her. The edges of her vision are blurred and she has to keep closing her eyes against the branches that scrape and switch her as they pass through the dense forest. 

When she closes her eyes, she sees Luthaniel’s eyes, dead eyes, in a haze of red. It is there but it is not, something she knows but cannot remember. It is not real she tells herself.

It is becoming a particularly arduous journey for Tharien and Callistia. The forest is thick in the south. Traversing through its gloomy passages is an exhausting ordeal, even the tree trunks are twisted. Callistia has the feeling she is passing the same body of water she passed an hour ago. The clawing branches poke and scratch her arms. Twice Elorean has slipped from the back of Tharien’s horse and he has to stop to retrieve her.

A branch swings back and clips Callistia in the face, gashing her cheek. She has had enough. It is time to finish the job and head back to the Halls of Mirkwood. She has suffered her discomfort and paid her dues. Her hour is at hand. 

“Stop!” she yells dismounting from her horse. 

“Bring her to me!” Callistia clambers down the slope to the body of water she is sure she has seen twice now. 

Tharion pulls Elorean from the horse. A chill of guilt runs through him when he sees her eyes are open and looking at him. He turns away.

“She is awake!” he shouts.

“Good!” Callistia wants Elorean awake for her final punishment. She has been paying the price for Elorean’s misbehavior her whole life. She is looking forward to seeing Elorean suffer, like she has suffered for so long. She has imagined this moment many times, now it is no longer a fantasy, it is really going to happen.

Elorean cannot feel her legs and they crumble beneath her when Tharien pulls her from the horse. Avoiding her eyes, he throws her over his shoulder and takes her to the water. Callistia points and Tharien drops her like a sack of flour, waist deep in the murky lake.

Wading in, Callistia drags Elorean until the water reaches her chest. Her face is crimson, to the points of her ears. “I hate you!” she spits as she puts her hands around Elorean’s throat and pushes her beneath the surface.

Elorean struggles at first, but soon her mind drifts. “I love you Elora.” She hears Thranduil’s voice and a peaceful veil descends on her, the pain is gone and she is drifting in another realm.

Callistia’s eyes are raging green, her tongue slightly protrudes from her mouth. She breathes heavily, as she holds Elorean’s head underwater and watches the bubbles slowly dissipate. So intent she is on keeping the struggling Elorean under water that she fails to hear the crashing in the trees around her.

Tharien hears the approaching Orcs, but a spear lances through his soft middle belly before he has a chance to draw his weapon. He lets out a stunted guffaw and takes a gurgling breath before falling with a thump to the dirt. The horses bolt and disappear into the dark shadows of the forest. 

Callistia is yanked by her hair from her position over Elorean. She reaches up, clawing at the hands that have her in their grip, screaming her dismay.

A drab grey fist reaches through the disturbed, muddy depths and pulls Elorean from the water. She chokes, spitting liquid from her lungs. The stench of Orc filth fills her nostrils. She sees Tharien lying impaled on the ground, his clouding eyes still hold a bit of life and an aura of fear and disbelief emanate from them.

Callistia’s screams blare through the tree tops, first screams of frustration and rage which quickly turn into shrieks of raw terror. Elorean remains silent save for her desperate attempts to expel the water from her lungs.

A deep grey creature with a few swatches of long black hair and slanted yellow eyes, is enthralled with Callistia. All of the Orc’s are far more interested in Callistia with all of her howling and wailing. Elorean struggles to just remain conscious and her apathy does not capture the same kind of attention Callistia is drawing to herself.

Elorean knows how to travel deep within, how to shut everything around her out. It is something she does when she heals, but it is something she can also do when she is in too much pain, like when her Father died. As the Orc carrying her clamps her breast under her wet shift, she reaches out for a memory. It is the day Thranduil took her to the glen to see the patch of green that still grows strong in Mirkwood. She sees him smile at her there, and she leaves her body. 

The Orc grows bored with the she elf he is carting when she does not even wriggle under his groping. He leaves her be for the duration of the walk back to the lair. Elorean does not register Callistia’s frantic screeching from the deep place inside she is hiding in. 

Thranduil’s trackers effortlessly find the trail taken by Callistia and her prison guard accomplice. The King has deployed four full companies and they ride at break neck speed to overtake the fleeing elf party. He orders a guard to be placed at the gate and a search ensues to find the missing sentry who has abandoned his post.

Callistia and Elorean are taken to a cave not far from the lake. Leather straps are bound around both of their wrists and they are hung from a long wooden beam, secured to the cave ceiling by a rusted iron chain. 

Callistia is still their favorite, begging, whimpering and crying. They are all enjoying their time with her. Her clothing lies in shreds beneath her and the Orc’s are giddy with excitement as they torture and play with her.

Elorean receives and occasional poke or prod, but she is unresponsive and this seems to cool their ardor toward her. That is until one Orc, who is growled and snapped at every time he gets close to Callistia, decides to try to rouse Elorean. He pulls a whip from the wall, it has nine, long, barbed thongs hanging from its wooden handle…

It does not take long for the King’s forces to track them down. There has been little if any attempt to cover their tracks. They discover the body of the prison guard, Tharien, lying on his back, eyes staring into the sky seeing nothing. A soldier dismounts and pulls a spear from the fallen elf. “Orcs,” is all he says.

With no other bodies in sight, Thanduil does not take the time to think about what fate may have befallen Elorean. He orders his company to follow the trail of the Orc’s. They will be camped close, he knows, they will not be far from the water. 

The Orc brings the whip down, lashing Elorean across the back and her eyes open wide and she sucks in a large gulp of air. 

“Scream!” the Orc bellows at her. His teeth are jagged and yellowed and his breath is putrid. As he raises the whip again, chaos ensues. The Orcs growl and posture, pulling their crude weaponry, several fall at the entrance of their lair. 

Thranduil charges through the cave’s opening followed by his forces. He eyes immediately train on the two elleths hanging at the back of the cave. He slays four Orc’s in front of him and two at his side, without ever taking his eyes off of Elorean.

The Orc leader, a towering, pale grey monster, bald with a patch covering a missing eye, quickly calls for his legions to cease fighting, knowing he cannot win this skirmish. Instead he steps to Elorean and puts a dagger to her throat, ordering a lesser Orc to do the same to the naked Callistia. The drooling, smaller Orc follows his master’s bidding, barely able to take his eyes off of Callistia’s battered body. 

“What now King?” the alpha Orc asks taunting Thranduil. “Drop your weapons or the she elves will die.” 

Thranduil knows there will be no bargains, that the Orc’s will slay Elorean in front of his eyes if he chooses to fight. He nods the order for his soldiers to drop their arms. Once they comply, he lets his sword clatter to the floor in front of him. 

“Now Elfling King, bow. Bow before me or watch them bleed!” The Orc’s voice is guttural and slow, it echoes through the cave with resounding menace. 

He has no choice, the dagger is at Elorean’s throat. Thranduil lowers himself down on one knee and Elorean begins to sob. “Death is upon you now King! Kill him!” 

Thranduil’s eyes never waiver from the dagger drawing beads of blood on Elorean's neck as she screams. The alpha Orc holding her, lowers the blade and licks her face, raising one hand to pinch her breast. “Yes, watch your King die and scream for me!”

Two Orc’s move in on Thranduil, raising their rudimentary swords.

“Nooo, Noooooo!!!” Elorean’s frantic shrieks reverberate through the cave as the two Orc’s come in for the kill.


	34. Chapter 34

Elorean’s screams prove to be an irresistible temptation for the Orc standing with his blade at her throat. He lowers the dagger with a grin and begins to toy with her, pinching her breast. A thick glob of spittle drips from his black lips. It is the advantage Thranduil has been waiting for. This would have been over already, should have been over already, but for Elorean’s neck under the knife.

There is no hesitation, his timing and his aim are honed to perfection. Rising to his full height, he draws both daggers from his sides. One, he sends sailing through the air, skewering the alpha Orc through the temple. Its pasty, grey hand drops from Elorean’s breast and the beast topples over backward, its body slamming into the squealing Callistia.

Thranduil arcs with his other dagger, slicing through the two offending Orcs falling upon him, while kicking up his sword with his foot and catching it in his free hand. Callistia and Elorean remain strung up as the King and his forces lay carnage to the beleaguered Orc’s.

“Dartho! Dose hono. Ho hebo cuin!” Thranduil shouts, ordering the two last Orcs be kept alive. 

He captures Callistia’s eyes with his, they are a frigid blue and hard as steel. He descends upon her, grabbing her jaw in his fist and squeezing until her lips pucker. “Now you are a Queen. A Queen of Orcs!” he hisses in her face, his nose almost touching hers. He turns without sparing her another second of his time.

“Noooooo! My Lord Thranduil! Please!.....Noooo! Callistia howls. He gives no indication that he hears her. Looking to his Captain, he orders Feren to cut down Elorean, and leaves the cave.

Thranduil feels nothing but rage. Elorean has placed herself in danger with no regard for him or the promise she made to him. Had he not swooped in to save her, she would be lost to him forever. 

His Father, Oropher had done the same, acting hastily, risking his life, and falling in the War of the Last Alliance. His Father struck out on his own, not waiting for the command that would have put an undefeatable army behind him. It had cost him his life. It had cost Thranduil his Father.

He has lived loss. He has lived a grief that laid waste to his heart and changed the course of the world. He was forced to pick up the shattered remnants of his Father’s army, and rebuild a life for his people and for himself. It is a wound too deep to ever fully heal, a suffering brought about by ill actions. It did not have to be.

Facing the possibility of that kind of pain again today, not knowing if he would find her dead or alive, has left him cold and hollow, as he was after the loss of his Father. And what of the lives of all of those who followed their King to find her? What if any of his troops had fallen, attacking the Orcs so far south? Do they not have those who love and would grieve for them as well? And all for the actions of one selfish, irresponsible elleth.

He has seen her, scrutinized her, she is wounded badly, he knows, but he cannot go to her. She is alive and that should be all of the comfort she is indulged with after her reckless, deceitful behavior.

Callistia stares in horror as the Orc pawing at her makes smacking noises trying to expel something from its mouth. He sticks his fingers through his yellowed fangs and pulls out a tiny, red nub. Looking at herself, Callistia sees a stream of blood trickling down her chest from the hole where her nipple used to be. She screams. The Orc shrugs, puts it back into his mouth, and swallows. He smiles at the thrill of her shrieking, and moves back in. Callistia hears the sound of the King’s forces galloping away from the Orc lair and vomits.

Feren wraps Elorean’s head wound with a swatch from his tunic. Her back is bloody from the whip and he is gentle as he hoists her onto his horse to carry her back to Mirkwood. She rests against his chest wondering why Thranduil has not come to her and wishes it were his arms holding her now. She drifts in and out of consciousness all the way back to the Halls of Mirkwood.

At the gate, the returning King is hailed by several guards. His forces stop and wait as their King is taken to the brush on the side of the river. Luthaniel’s body has not been moved. They have awaited Thranduil’s return, along with the return of his top ranking commanders before taking any action, wanting to leave the scene undisturbed.

Waves of revolution flood over him as Thranduil looks upon Luthaniel’s corpse. It is Elorean’s guard, but it is also his guard, his charge, who has met such an early, grotesque demise.

Storming over to Feren he drags Elorean from the horse. Elorean is jarred from her twilight state. The Orc is shaking her again, but then no, she realizes, it is Thranduil whose hands are hurting her now. She tries to stand but her legs buckle beneath her. He catches her roughly, just before she hits the ground. She works hard to gain her bearings. As she steadies her feet, he begins thrusting her, on wobbling legs, to the bushes where Luthaniel’s lifeless body lies.

“Look!, Look Eloerean!” Thranduil yells, pushing Elorean to her knees next to Luthaniel. Elorean sees him lying on the ground, his eyes clouded in death, his neck nearly severed from his body. She reaches out her hands to him and tries to put him back together.

“You did this Elorean. This is what happens when you care not about your promises, when you will not listen! I warned you of the dangers you would summon acting on your own! You are responsible for this!”

Elorean hears Thranduil and confusion and shock wash over her face. But she is focused on Luthaniel, and energy flows from her hands. One of the guards lets out a gasp as a visible spark comes from her fingers, but he is long dead, there is nothing to bring him back now. Still, she continues to try from her state of disconnect and disbelief.

The King yanks her to her feet, ripping her away and she reaches out to reclaim him, screaming, “Luthaniel!...... Luthaniel!….. Nooooo…….Nooooooo…..” Thranduil callously holds her there but will not let her touch her dead guard. He seals a hand over her mouth, silencing her screams. Her legs have stopped working again he lifts her off the ground and carries her back to Feren.

He tosses her back up on the Captain’s horse. “Take her to the healing quarters,” he orders, ignoring the shocked look on Feren’s face. He turns his heel and marches back to his mount, departing for his palace. 

Elorean falls silent under the King’s gag. Something invisible cracks deep inside and splits off from the rest of her. She is here but she is not. Soon a deep void completely overtakes her and the world blessedly fades away.

Aleial’s hands are on her back, working. It is hard for Elorean to think past the pain, there is not a place in or on her that does not ache. There is a sharp ringing in her ears and Aleial’s voice is far away. Her back wounds bite and burn. She feels herself drifting away again. Aleial keeps constant vigil, applying tinctures and compresses, dripping water from a cloth into Elorean’s parched lips.

“You have been in and out for three days,” Aleial says, helping her friend sit up. “You gave me a scare. What happened out there Elorean?”

Elorean tries to think, to remember, it hurts her head to think. She closes her eyes against the light. _Thranduil, he is naked and beautiful, slipping on his robe. Luthaniel, dead eyes, he has a gaping gash that separates his head from his body, he is gone….Thranduil’s voice, it is bellowing, he is angry, “You did this Elorean!” Thranduil’s hand, harsh and rough, smothering the screams until they leave, carried away on Luthaniel’s name, the screams, they are mine……_ This is all Elorean remembers. Shaking her head in answer to Aleial, she puts her hand over her mouth and feels the hot tears streaming down her face.

Thranduil dresses with a cold indifference, putting the ring Callistia stole on his finger, before moving on with his daily duties. He makes no inquiries of Elorean’s welfare and has had every trace of her removed from his rooms. The mere thought of her still brings him to boil even though a week has passed. He is restless, sleep does not come. He feels irritable and short tempered.

He sends an order to the healing quarters for a dark haired, petite, grey eyed healer who attended to his wounds once before. She had warm hands when she worked, he remembers. Warm hands like Elorean’s. He quickly dismisses the image of Elorean that has entered his mind for the thousandth time today alone.

It has been two weeks since Elorean cradled Luthaniel’s dead face in her hands, since she learned she was responsible for his death. She tries to remember what she did, but it remains out of her reach as does her voice. She tries to speak, to ask the questions that overwhelm her, but her voice is gone. She concentrates and tries to bring it forth, but opens her eyes only to find her hand covering her mouth.

She hears the excitement, the bustling going on around her. The King has personally requested Illysia and she goes to him every day now. She comes back gushing and glowing. Elorean knows why, even though Illysia is careful to whisper when Elorean is around. She overhears one of Illysia’s conversations with a younger elleth about the King’s bedroom skills.

He is gone, Thranduil has replaced me, she thinks to herself. She tries to feel happy for her fellow healer, it is a rare honor to be asked to serve the King, but it is hard to feel anything now. There is a strange paralysis inside her, like the wheels stopped turning, like they are caught on something and it hurts, it hurts down to the marrow of her bones.

Four weeks after her return to the healer’s quarters, Elorean watches as Illysia packs her things to move into the King’s Halls, she has been given a permanent assignment in the palace.

This same day, Elorean is assigned to the widower Josian. The new matriarch was close to Gwinithiel and Callistia, she is cold to Elorean, but she is not completely heartless. Josian is a gentle soul, over taken by grief. The new matriarch, Meridithel, explains to Elorean it is time for her to get back to work and assures her this will be an easy assignment, after her time with the King.

Elorean prepares to go to Josian, trying to put her heart in the right place to help him. She bathes and dresses in a loose frock, she still cannot stand anything tight against the wounds on her back. Breathing in the fresh air, she makes it just past the door and her stomach lurches. She knows she cannot do this. She understands now, finally, why her Mom had to go, why she left her, Landinir, and Luthaniel. She has learned about memory, how it follows you wherever you turn, leaving no escape.

Escape, that is what her Mother did, when the memory of her father loomed too large, when it suffocated her, when she could not move without running into a reminder, a reminder of something that she loved with every fiber of her being but could never touch again. For Elorean, the reminders are everywhere, her Father, her Mother, Landinir, Luthaniel and the ever present, yet absent Thranduil, who still is her King.

He does not care for her any longer, or perhaps she was just mistaken and he never did. The questions are too many, the answers too few and the pain of residing in Mirkwood under Thranduil’s rule when all else she loved is gone and he is so close, is too much. Elorean knows, with a heavy heart, she must go.

She returns to her quarters and packs a few things. She just needs to make it beyond the borders of Mirkwood to survive. She knows the sound of spiders now, she knows the scent of an Orc camp. She can make it. Placing her medical journal on Aleial’s bed, she wishes she could give her something more as a departing gift. Aleial is the only friend she has left here.

She can leave by the gate, no elf is required to reside in Mirkwood if they chose to live elsewhere, and she is no longer under order or assignment of the King. She cannot bear the thought of passing the place where Luthaniel died though. She scales the back wall without looking back, this time only looking forward, lest she run into the King and his guard again. She cannot bear the thought of seeing Thranduil either. She takes it as a sign, that the coast is clear, and moves to put as much distance as she can between the only home she has ever known and her future.


	35. Chapter 35

Thranduil soaks in the pool while Illysia works on him. Her hands are warm, luke warm. He has had Illysia. She has provided limited relief. He has treated her well, but is careful not to let her believe she is more to him than what she is.

When he closes his eyes, he sees only Elorean. Illysia has tried, but often, he just has to push her away. He does not want for her. She cannot replace Elorean, he knows this. She is merely a distraction and not much of one at that. When he is with her, he finds himself imagining she is Elorean. And Illysia, for all of her efforts to please him, is not. She has reminded him of her name, in his bed, more than once, when he has inadvertently called her Elora.

Elorean. He has been blinded by a rage that precedes her. She has not seen the carnage he has seen, she does not know what he knows. She has not lived what he has lived. His feels his heart softening and his vision clearing now. She has been punished. He knows her wounds and they are hurting him now, worrying him now, as his rage subsides. Her screams haunt his rest.

Her betrayal, her broken vow, is still a searing knife cutting through him, but he feels something inside that desperately wants to forgive her. She is so young and has seen so little to be held to such extreme accountability. And she has paid a heavy price, the loss of her beloved guard. Thranduil longs for her, he misses her, but knows she could have easily been gone to him forever, like his Father, really gone. That she is not is nothing more than a stroke of luck.

He had prepared himself to find her dead, felt the initial stage of loss even. It is from this place his anger stems. But she is not gone, and his need for her is growing. It grows every time he allows Illysia to touch him, every time he closes his eyes. He moved Illysia into the palace so that his bed will not be empty at night, to fill the void where Elorean is supposed to be.

Illysia is with him, in his bed, when the report from the prison comes to him first thing in the morning. The Dwarf has healed, he has no trace of the pox left upon him. Thranduil makes arrangements for an audience to set Elorean’s Dwarf free. It will be a gift to her, he will see that her Dwarf is returned to his kin safely. He knows this will not assuage the feelings of regret that are welling up inside of him now, but perhaps it will be a gesture that can begin to heal what has transpired between he and Elorean.

Thranduil orders Elorean to be brought to him for an audience following the Dwarf. The longing in his heart for her has overcome the hurdle of her mistake and he wants nothing more now than to hold her again and to know she is well and recovering from her ordeal. He will tell her he has sent her patient home, and hopes that she will receive this news well.

Illysia reacts to his calling for Elorean with desperate attempts to lure him back into bed with her, so much so, she reminds him of Callistia and he feels disgusted. He has to untangle her from him and order her out just to dress.

Leonin is brought before his throne, hands bound, and Thranduil immediately orders him uncuffed. The Dwarf bows his head in gratitude. “You are free to return to your kin, my guards will see you home safely. ”

“Thank you, King of the Woodland Realm” Leonin says, clearly pleased to be going home. “The elleth, Elorean, did she survive?” the Dwarf asks.

“Yes, she lives,” the King replies harshly. “No thanks to you.”

The Dwarf stands staring at his feet. “That guard said he thought he had killed her when she would not come to the prison. I feared her dead. I wished no harm upon her, especially not on my account.” A long pause separates the King and the Dwarf.

Leonin, finally, turns to leave. “Wait!” Thranduil orders. “She did not come to the prison to treat you?”

“No. That guard told the other elleth she refused to come. He said he had hit her, hit her so hard he thought she was perhaps dead. I am most happy to hear she survived.”

Thranduil simply nods his head and turns from Leonin, dismissing him. As he faces the wall, Thranduil feels as though he has been punched in the stomach. Had Elorean really not gone to the prison that day?

He leaves to find his attendant. Bastian is called from the kitchens where he is giving instructions for the King’s lunch. “My Lord,” he says rushing out to find Thranduil standing in the Hall.”

“Elorean,” Thranduil says, and Bastian’s eyes snap to meet the Kings at the mention of her name. “She pretended to be napping and stole away that day, did she not?”

“She was napping My Lord, I checked on her every fifteen minutes,” Bastian looks down. “I feel it was my fault she was taken My Lord, but I do not know how he made it past the guards.”

Thranduil takes in a sharp, short breath. “Taken? She was taken from my room? How do you know this?”

“My Lord, there was blood on the floor, lots of blood. Her clothes were sitting on the chair, she was still in her night shift.”

Thranduil nods, looking down dejectedly and turns, praying Elorean has arrived. His longing to see her has now been replaced by a fierce urgency to take her in his arms and make amends for all that transpired that day, for the way her punished her, and for keeping her away for the last five weeks.

The mistake was his in not protecting her, not hers in disobeying him. How he will suffer this knowledge, he does not know.Five weeks, it has been five weeks since that night, she must believe he has abandoned her.

“My Lord, I am sorry she was taken while she was in my attendance, I am sorry she was hurt.” Bastian says as the King turns to leave.

Thranduil realizes his personal attendant feels responsible. “It was not your fault Bastian, I did not put a guard on her, the blame is mine,” he says, leaving the servant alone in the hallway.

Thranduil moves with haste to his throne chamber and enters, searching the room. It is Aleial he finds waiting, not Elorean, and his heart drops. Perhaps Elorean does not want to see him, he cannot fault her for this. He is willing to go to her. His eyes meet Alleial’s questioningly.

“My Lord,” she says bowing, “Elorean has left.”

“Left? Left where?”

“I do not know, My Lord, she has not spoken since she returned.”

He thinks perhaps she has left the healer’s quarters and is staying with a friend or her family. “Who would she go to Aleial?”

“I do not know, all of her family is gone now that Luthaniel…died”

“Family? The guard was a relation?”

“Yes, he was her cousin, but more like a brother. He came to live with them when Elorean was very young. His parents were both killed.”

Thranduil can think of little now except for Elorean’s hands trying to right Luthaniel’s severed head on his shoulders and the energy sparking from her fingers….and what he did to her that night. He closes his eyes.

“I need to find her now Aleial.”

“My Lord, she left for an assignment from Madam Meridithel, to attend to the widower Josian. She never went to him and did not return that evening.”

Thranduil spins around, “She was assigned to be a Naditu?” His demeanor frightens Aleial and she takes a step back. She nods, afraid to say anything.

“How do you know she left, that something did not happen to her?” he demands.

“She packed her things, My Lord, she left me her medical journal.”

“How long?” Aleial blinks.

“How long has she been gone?” he softens his voice, realizing he has frightened her.

“Eight days.” Thranduil feels panic rising in him, but he remains steady and cool.

“And she told you nothing of her plans, where she was going?”

“No, My Lord, she no longer speaks.” It takes Thranduil a moment to understand what Aleial is saying.

“To anyone?”

“No my Lord, she has not said a word since that night, I do not think she can.”

Thranduil nods, dismissing her.

Eight days, he closes his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he calls for Feren to assemble a party, once again, to go in search of her. Thranduil cannot bear to consider her fate. It is not a race against time now, it is a hope beyond hopes, he knows, and this time he has no one to blame but himself.


	36. Chapter 36

Ten days. She has been gone ten days, Thanduil thinks to himself. It is day two of his search for her and it is beginning to seem she has vanished without a trace. The trackers have found nothing to suggest she has gone in any particular direction. Thranduil recalls the last time he saw her, weeks ago now, playing the scene over and over again in his mind. Why had she not told him she did not go to the prison? 

But that is a question easily answered. He had Feren free her from the Orc snare and carry her home. The only time he had spent with her was when he took her to Luthaniel’s body, and he remembers the confusion and shock on her face. She never had a chance to tell him, he had not allowed her one.

He hears Aleial’s voice in his head, “She has not said a word since that night, I do not think she can.” Elorean had not come to him over the weeks following that night to tell him the truth because she could not. He was to blame for that. She was still speaking, screaming, the last time he was with her. This knowledge nearly brings him to his knees. 

The King’s party finds the Orc lair. Callistia’s corpse hangs from the ceiling beam, her body ripped open and gutted. Thranduil’s eyes travel to the ground where her blood soaked clothing lies. He looks to where Elorean was hung, there is no clothing there. He curses himself for not seeing this the day he rescued her, he had assumed the Orc’s were undressing her as they did Callistia. 

Bastian finds a sobbing Illysia in the King’s room. “My Lady?” he asks.

“He sent for her. The King sent for Elorean.” Illysia cries.

“Yes,” Bastian says. “He loves her.” Illysia buries her face in her hands and cries harder. 

Bastian understands now there has been a terrible mistake. He assumed Elorean was taken to the healers because she was hurt so badly during the kidnapping. He did not know the King had believed she defied his orders. 

That Thranduil had taken Illysia to his bed did surprise him, but the King has been restless and Bastian assumed the he was just using a Naditu to get through a difficult time, for what little good it did. It is not his place to question the King.

Thranduil had arrived a few hours after Elorean disappeared, so of course the blood had already been cleaned, but what made the King believe she had snuck away? It was the King’s palace guards that had informed him she was gone. 

Bastian is beginning to suspect that the King was not properly briefed because someone did not want to be blamed, or, because of something more sinister. Had one of the palace guard’s played a role in Elorean’s kidnapping? Callistia had always consorted heavily with the palace guards.

“My Lord, if she had been taken by spiders, we would have found something, her sword, an article of clothing….” Feren tells the King, trying to reassure him, four days into their search. They have turned up nothing, not a single clue as to where she might have gone. Feren sees King is despondent, and they need to return to the Halls of Mirkwood for supplies. 

“I believe she could survive my Lord. Her fighting skills are excellent.” Feren says as the party turns back towards the palace. Thranduil simply nods his head, his eyes scanning the forest as if he believes she will come walking out from the trees. He feels as though he is suspended in time.

“Did she say anything to you that night?”

Feren looks down and when he looks up again, the King’s piercing blue eyes are on him and he is compelled to answer.

“She asked for you, My Lord, when I cut her bonds.”

Thranduil looks away.

“And after she saw the guard’s body, when you took her to the healer’s quarters, did she say anything then?”

“No, My Lord, she said nothing.” 

The King’s search party returns to his Halls on the fifth day, empty handed. Thranduil orders the group be resupplied and ready to leave again in two hours. He knows he will search for her until finds her or knows her fate. If nothing is found when they sweep the Northern end of the forest, he will send word for Legolas to come home and take the throne. 

Bastian ushers Illysia to another room when he hears the King has returned, despite her avid protests. He helps Thranduil bathe and don new clothing. “Where has she gone?” the King asks, but it is as if he is talking to himself and not his servant. 

“She would not stay in Mirkwood.”

Thranduil turns, surprised Bastian has answered and gives him a questioning look.

“Elorean must have known you commissioned Illysia for the palace, that you had finished with her. She would be looking for a new home, a permanent home, not attempting to survive these dark times in the forest alone. She would not believe you would come for her.”

Thranduil turns to leave, feeling a hand inside him, crushing his heart. 

“She does not eat rabbit My Lord.” Thranduil stops in the doorway. “Nor the foul, the pork or the venison. She takes honey from the hives for her medicine wearing no netting and does not get stung. Butterflies light in hair in the garden. Perhaps you should ask the forest where she went.”

Thranduil turns and stares at Bastian for a moment, feeling a jolt of jealously towards his attendant who does his job so well and knows such things. He gives him a curt nod and heads out again thinking about what Bastian has said. His heart is sick. He failed to protect her in his own palace and then he drove her away. If she has perished, she died not knowing his love for her and this thought is unbearable. 

“We ride north,” Thranduil orders the company assembled and ready for him at the gate. 

Elorean is regaining her strength. That she does not speak makes her an easy guest for the solitary Brown Wizard. His healing magic is more powerful than that of the elves. Radagast fears for her, however. Her physical wounds are severe, but mending well. She has other wounds, wounds he cannot see, that run much deeper 

He has not been able to coax forth her voice, the elleth never speaks a word. She is plagued by blinding headaches that leave her in bed for hours, unable to tolerate the slightest bit of light. She never rests without nightmares disrupting her sleep. 

She works well with the animals, they were the ones who warned him of the lone elleth traveling the banks of the Enchanted River, the same elleth who had fallen to a spider’s sting not so long ago. For one the Elven King appeared to have cared so much for, Radagast was surprised to find her wandering alone, so badly injured and broken.

Elorean knows she has forgotten something, but she does not try to remember anymore. Thranduil left her and Luthaniel died because of what she did. She remembers Thranduil taking her to Luthaniel and telling her it was her fault before sending her away for good. 

She has tried to bring back the memory of what happened, what she did, but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot. It causes her head to hurt badly and makes her ears ring. It is too late now anyway, what has been done is done and cannot be taken back.

It is hard to understand, she would die for Luthaniel, this she knows, and there is some comfort there. Whatever she did, she did not intend for him to die. The regret, though, still overwhelms her at times and the tears still flow. 

How much she misses Thranduil, not even the trees she rests against to cry will ever know. But he and the Halls of Mirkwood are behind her now and once she is strong enough, she will move on again. He will be nothing more than a faraway memory. It seems silly to her now that she ever thought she could have the King’s love. 

It is the call of a bird, a black crested blue bird that catches Thranduil’s attention. “Cha Cheer, Cha Cheer….” When he looks up the bird is staring at him, hopping and fluttering from tree to tree to keep in front of him. The bird continues to chatter, ”Cha Cheeeeeer…… Cheeeeer” It sounds almost as if the bird is saying “here.” 

Thranduil heeds Bastian’s advice and listens to the forest. He follows the bird west and when it does not fly away from the search party for over an hour, he allows a faint surge hope to seep past his sorrow and urges his horse to ride harder.

They are led to a rustic area, on the eaves of the forest. Thranduil is met by Aiwendil, the Brown Wizard of the Beasts, now known as Radagast. Thranduil bows his head in respect to the wizard who once saved Elorean’s life, not so long ago. 

Thranduil dismounts and walks toward the wizard but before he can ask if he has any knowledge of Elorean, Radagast speaks. “Your elleth is here.”

The King stops in his tracks. “Where?” he asks, his voice is a haunted whisper of doubt, as if he cannot believe what the wizard is saying to him.

“She is not the same elleth I pulled the spider venom from Thranduil. She is not well, she is broken.”

“Where?” the ElvenKing whispers again.

Radagast turns and walks around his cottage at the base of giant Oak. Thranduil follows, signaling his guards to stay behind.

As they walk to the back of Radagast’s dwelling, he sees her. She is off in the distance, in an open field, her back is turned to him and she is kneeling. The red and white tail of a fox drapes over her thigh, its tip resting on the ground.

“She does not speak,” Radagast says. “Perhaps it is best that you leave her here.”

Thranduil raises a closed fist to his mouth and Radagast can see it is of no use to try to discourage the Woodland King from going to her, he is already overcome and the tears are rolling down his face. 

He walks to her slowly, not wanting to startle her, and when he reaches her, he sits down at her side. 

Elorean is looking down at the fox she is working on. The animal startles as Thranduil sits. It hisses at the unknown intruder before bolting. With her head still down, Elorean’s eyes travel over to the hand on the ground next to her. It is a hand with a ring, a ring she recognizes all too well. Her eyes grow wide and she takes in a sharp breath. Her hand comes up and covers her mouth before she squeezes her eyes shut tightly and turns her head away. 

“Elora” Thranduil whispers her name, his voice is a hoarse choke. He puts his arm around her and raises his hand to clasp the one she has over her mouth. He gently pries her clenched fingers from her face and brings her hand to his chest, “Elora,” he says, as his tears fall on her cheeks.


	37. Chapter 37

Elorean is rigid in his arms but he feels the wetness of her tears through his shirt. He wonders if he is going to wake up and find this is a dream, find that she is still gone, lost to him, maybe forever. He has held himself together over the past many days, leading his guards through the forest knowing that her chances of survival were not good. It is a burden that has taken a heavy toll on the King. Whatever it takes, however long it takes, he will see her well again, now that he has her back.

This time, he will not let her go. He leans away and tips her face to his, but she does not meet his eyes. Hers are liquid pools of blue, glassy, and far away. Thranduil can see without looking further something is terribly amiss, that she is not fully present. He shudders to think how long she has been like this, knowing she spent weeks in this state at the healer’s quarters. Weeks when he could have reached for her anytime.

Home, he needs to get her home, he thinks to himself. He gently lifts her to her feet. She is still too thin and feels fragile under his arm but her footing is steady as she walks with him, glancing to look behind at the fox standing at the tree line glowering at the King.

Radagast has quickly gathered her things and some supplies. Thranduil reluctantly hands Elorean off to Feren, to thank the wizard, once again, for coming to her aid.

Radagst is not interested in gratitude, instead he rambles off a flurry of instructions. “Give her this for the headaches, keep her from the light when they come,” he says handing Thranduil a bottle of dark liquid. “This is for the night terrors,” he instructs, handing him a bottle of granules.

The wizard looks at the King with a grave expression. “It would be best if you left her here,” he sighs, resigned to the fact that Thranduil is not going to be leaving her anywhere.

“I will take care of her.” Tharaduil bows his head to the wizard. “I will not forget what you have done, you are a friend to the elves and you have my gratitude.” The old wizard acquiesces, knowing it is fruitless to argue with the King, that he is going to take the elleth regardless of any argument he can make against it.

Elorean has already settled on Feren’s horse and Thranduil allows her to ride there, not wanting to upset her. He can sense she is tense and is willing to give her all of the time she needs to feel safe with him again.

They ride back towards the King’s Halls, Thranduil leading alongside Feren in silence. The hours pass quickly, easily now that he knows she is alive and safe, but her condition gnaws at his heart.

Elorean hears the clicking coming from the trees. In some strange way, her senses are honed to the forest now. Feren feels her tense, but before he can react, she is off his horse with her sword drawn. The King’s party stops, confused with her odd behavior, but then they hear it too.

Thranduil, Feren and three other guards are in front of her with their weapons drawn before a single spider is within eyesight. The creatures surround them and the King and his forces cut them down one by one. The spiders do not flee, some continue to grab at the guard’s legs even after being mortally wounded. Tauriel was right the King thinks, they _are_ growing bolder.

Once the last one has been killed, Thranduil turns to Elorean, but she is not there. He spins around looking for her and sees Feren and several others staring up into the canopy.

Thranduil’s begins scouring the tree tops for her just as a giant spider comes crashing down from the thick leaves. It lands with thud in front of him, a knife through its skull.

Elorean vaults down from branch to branch until her boots hit the ground next to the fallen spider. Leaning over it, she pulls her dagger from the head of the creature and wipes the black blood off on its furry leg. She walks over to Feren’s grey steed and mounts it, waiting for the King and his party to resume their trek home.

Everyone stands watching her in astonished silence. Feren looks at the King and chuckles.

Thranduil goes to Feren’s horse and offers Elorean his hand. It has been a hard for him, seeing her ride with Feren. Now that he has found her he wants to have her near. Having turned from battling the spiders to find her gone, even for those few seconds, gave rise to a feeling of dread inside of him.

Elorean looks down at his hand as if she is puzzled by it, but she takes it and allows him to help her dismount. He leads her to his horse and sets her up in front of him. She sits straight as an arrow, still watching the tree line as if she is expecting more spiders. He longs to touch her but he knows he has to be cautious with her now after everything that has transpired. He will have to earn her trust again.

It is a long trek back to the Halls of Mirkwood and after several hours, Thranduil sees her body relax. Eventually she drifts back, leaning on his chest and Thranduil wraps a protective arm around her realizing she has fallen asleep, lulled by the easy gait of his horse. He kisses the top of her head. Her hair smells of honey and cinnamon.

As they near the Halls of Mirkwood he feels her shudder and awaken. He kisses her head again, tightening his arm reassuringly around her waist. He feels her start to squirm and notices her breaths are coming fast and shallow and her whole body is beginning to shake. “Elorean, what is wrong?” the King asks and then he remembers, she has not spoken for weeks now.

He leans around to see her face and she is staring at the sentry posted on the wall at the gate. She is thinking of Luthaniel, this was his post, and she is probably thinking about that night. He pulls her into his chest and envelopes her with his robe, nudging his horse into a full run to get her past the gate and her memories there.

Once they pass the point of entry, Thranduil slows his horse and uncovers Elorean. She has her eyes squeezed shut and her fist is clenching the bottom of her tunic. “It’s okay myri, it’s okay,” he whispers to her, untangling her fingers from her clothing and kissing her forehead.

When they arrive at the palace, Elorean dismounts and walks over to Feren’s horse again, jumping on in front of him. Feren looks at the King perplexed and waits for instructions. As the King walks over to them, Feren dismounts, pulling Elorean off the horse with him. As he turns to Thranduil, Elorean goes in the other direction and begins walking away. Thranduil understands then, she is going toward the healing quarters.

He catches up with her in two long strides. Putting his arm around her he redirects to the palace. She does not resist, but again has a puzzled look on her face and Thranduil wishes she would speak. Her eyes seem to be turned inward, like he could fall into them and never make it out. He thinks perhaps it is going to be harder to find her wherever she has gone inside herself than it was to find her in the maze of Mirkwood.

Bastian looks as if he going to cry when he sees the King with Elorean in tow and he stifles the urge to run and take her from him to see that she okay. He follows the pair into the King’s chamber. Illysia is lying across the Kings bed on her stomach, propped up on her arms reading a book from the King’s library. She is completely nude and her flawless skin glows over the curves of her back and perfect heart shaped buttocks. Her hair is loose and long and she wears a circlet on her head. She looks every bit the Queen.

Bastian is surprised. He had Illysia moved back to the healing quarters while the Thranduil was gone, telling her the King was no longer in need of a healer. She was getting too attached and Bastian thought it best to squash whatever ideations she had toward the King before she became anymore enmeshed with him in her mind. What was she doing here and how did she get in? “

"Oh you poor dear!” Illysia exclaims on seeing Elorean with her tousled hair and dirt smeared face. Rising like Venus from the bed, Illysia strolls towards them showing off her her perfect, nude, hourglass figure. She takes Elorean's hands in hers, tisking over her broken, caked fingernails and says “Bastian, Elorean needs some tending too,” before standing on her toes in front of Thranduil and kissing him on the lips. “Welcome back My King,” she says beaming.

Bastian quickly takes Elorean, giving Thranduil an apologetic look. The King can tell Illysia to leave himself. Maybe then she will listen.

Thranduil allows Bastian to whisk off with Elorean, not wanting to make a scene in front of her and not at all pleased that he brought her into his chamber only to have her see Illysia naked in his bed.

“Get dressed Illysia,” the King orders. “It is time for you to return to your quarters. Your service is completed here." His voice is kind but firm.

“But surely you do not intend for Elorean to return to work, she is in no condition to attend to you My Lord.”

“I appreciate your dedication Illysia, but you are no longer required her. Return to your quarters immediately.”

“My Lord,” ….Illysia begins to cry, “Thranduil,” she croaks, "I cannot leave, I am carrying your child."


	38. Chapter 38

Illysia waits, but the King just stares at her incredulously, not uttering a word.

“How is this possible?” he says finally, breaking the silence.

“I do not know, My Lord,” she sniffles. But she does know. She stopped taking her prevention when she first was summoned to the palace. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, one she never dreamed she would have. With Callistia gone, it seems the deepest desires of her heart, ones she has only fantasized about, are becoming a reality.

The trouble is with Thranduil, she has managed to get him to bed her just once, and that was not enough. She cannot allow him to send her away before she conceives. He may care for Elorean, perhaps because of her healing abilities, but she knows he cannot desire her in the way he desired Callistia and now, the way he desires her.

Elorean dresses like a male, she pays no attention to her hair, and she is too tall to attract a King who can have perfection in his bed with the snap of his fingers. He had sent Elorean back and called for her after all, did he not? Elorean will never be enough for Thranduil.

Illysia saunters over to the King and drapes her arms around his broad shoulders, nudging her nude body against him, tempting him with a wet kiss on his neck. Thranduil peels her off and steps back. “Get dressed Illysia,” he says quietly before leaving the room.

Illysia sits on the edge of the bed rocking, she has to get the King to lay with her, she has to find a way to make this happen and soon.

Thranduil leaves Illysia sitting on his bed and goes to the pools where Bastian has undressed Elorean and is bathing her. His options are limited, he knows, but regardless of the decisions he will be forced to make now regarding the throne, he will see Elorean restored and well again.

He feels the thunder of his own heart when he sees her. It is hard to bear just being down the hall from her now, it is too far away. As his eyes travel over her back, they widen in dismay. She has been slashed deeply, badly. How had he not known this? He kneels next to Bastian who looks at the King and shakes his head.

Thranduil runs his fingers over one of her lash marks, it is evident the whip had a sharp barb that has torn her flesh from her. “Bring back Aleial My Lord, she needs a healer.” Bastian says, forgetting his place in a rare moment.

Elorean senses a hand other than Bastian’s touching her wounds and she covers her breasts with her arms and draws up her legs, wishing she were back with Radagast. Why has the King brought her back? He has kept Illysia here and she is obviously more than just a healer to him. Elorean shudders remembering his anger for her the last time she was with him.

Seeing her discomfort, Thranduil finds a towel to cover her and sends Bastian to find Aleial. He quietly tells his servant to send Illysia to the eastern wing of the palace. He does not want Elorean burdened with having to see her anymore. Bastian is clearly aggrieved with the King’s request, but bows his head with a frown and says “Yes, My Lord,” looking back at Elorean once again, before taking his leave.

Thranduil tenderly pulls Elorean from the pool, wrapping her up in the blanket sized towel. It was not long ago she was asking for him, loving him with this body she is shielding from him now. His wrath over the possibility of losing her accomplished nothing other than to drive her away.

He stills for a moment, holding her to his chest, alarmed at her tremors. “Elorean, you are safe now, ” he whispers to her. But how will he keep her safe from the knowledge that another elleth carries his child and has a claim to the throne? He cannot deny his own child, nor can he take that child’s mother away.

Bastian sends a guard for Aleial and grudgingly goes to the King’s chambers to see to Illysia. She is pacing the room, wearing only Thranduil’s robe when he arrives. He swallows his rising anger over the fact she is being allowed to remain in the palace.  “The King has requested that you be moved to the east wing.”

Illysia throws the first thing she can get her hands on, a clear vase filled with colored pebbles. It shatters against the wall scattering rocks and glass across the room. “He cannot send me away! I am to be the Mother of his child!” 

Bastian stares at her in shock for a moment, then his eyes narrow to slants and his head tilts slightly as he crosses his arms. “Are you now?” he asks, his voice laced with humor and sarcasm.

Illysia feels a sting of fear pricking the back of her throat.

Thranduil returns to his chambers with Elorean. Illysia is gone and there is no trace of the mess she made. Setting Elorean on the bed, he pulls one of his shirts for her from his wardrobe. He puts it on her over the towel, pulling the damp terry cloth out from under it once she is covered. When he looks up, she meets his eyes for the first time. 

Thranduil freezes unable to move. There is only a split second between them before she retreats. He reaches up with his hand to caress he cheek, but her eyes are blank again. “Elora” he murmurs trying to get her back, but she has returned to the deep, her eyes are hollow.

“My Lord, Bastian ordered a small spread,” a kitchen servant is standing in the doorway and Thranduil nods. The attendant serves the King a plate first, but Thranduil gives it to Elorean and is surprised when she eats without being prompted.

When they finish, Elorean yawns, but she looks frightened when the King dims the lights and pulls the covers back for her. He slips off his boots and lies next to her, pulling her into him. He recites to her an ancient poem about the first elves awakening at Lake Cuiviénen, until her breaths become even and he knows she has fallen asleep.

Bastian is pleased when he returns from seeing Illysia to her new quarters to find the King with Elorean in the bed together. He quietly removes their dishes and the food cart from the room, careful not to disturb them before seeing that Aleial’s room is prepared for her arrival.

Thranduil is awakened abruptly by sudden movements and he finds Elorean thrashing violently in the bed, her breaths ragged and short. What was it the wizard had said? Night terrors, Thranduil remembers. “Elorean,” he whispers her name and tries to hold her. When he does, she bolts straight up in the bed screaming. Hearing her voice is so unexpected it takes him a moment to realize she is screaming for him.

“What have I done? What have I done to you Elora?” he whispers wrapping her in his arms. She is surprisingly strong and it takes a moment for him to subdue her to the point where she can hear him. “I am here myrialor, I am here now.” Thranduil knows he will never be able to let her go, that his love for her will not be denied no matter who bears the title of Queen of Mirkwood.

Illysia stares at the empty bed in her new room. Bastian suspects she is lying. She needs to rectify this situation immediately, before she is discovered, but she has been ordered to stay away from the King’s rooms. How will she conceive his child if she cannot get near him? Why is this so hard? She can easily have any other elf she wants. Sitting on the bed, she huddles against the pillows and starts to cry, but then she stops and sits up.

That is the answer to her predicament. Her powers of seduction are strong and it will be easy for her to get pregnant. She just needs to choose an elf that resembles the King.


	39. Chapter 39

Thranduil awakens early and watches Elorean sleep. It is still hard for him to fathom that she is actually back in the Halls of Mirkwood, that she survived. He feels a swell of gratitude that dampens his eyes. She spoke last night, screamed actually, but her voice is not gone, locked away perhaps, but not gone. “Come back, Elora,” he whispers “Come back to me.”

Bastian appears in the doorway, “My Lord?” he says in a hushed tone. Thranduil turns to him, letting a lock of Elorean’s golden hair fall from his fingers. 

The servant’s arms are full. A red furred creature peeps out over his elbow. The King knows its face immediately. It is Elorean’s fox. 

“One of the guards recognized this critter, else it would have been pierced by an arrow.” 

Thranduil nods and Bastian sets the animal on the floor. It jumps on the bed and sniffs, hissing once at the King before curling into a ball at Elorean’s side, watching her intently. Thranduil raises his eyebrows and looks at Bastian. The servant just shrugs. 

“Aleial is here, she is in her room.” Bastian says quietly.

The King slips from the bed, careful not to disturb Elorean. 

“Illysia?” 

“She is settled in the east wing.”

Thranduil nods, inhaling deeply and Bastian does not miss the look of misery on the King’s face.

Elorean sleeps late. She wakes to a warmth at the crook of her knees. When she looks down, a familiar pair of amber eyes peers directly into hers, expectantly. Sitting up she smiles, feeling a bit disoriented as the fragrant notes of late blooming rose, and violet fill her senses. 

A magnificent bouquet of flowers sits on her bed stand, roses of many colors, sprays of baby’s breath that look like star dust, and sprigs of violets and morning glories. The fox creeps up the bed, tail swishing to greet her and she reaches to scratch his ears. 

Bastian arrives with a breakfast tray and a plate of scraps for the fox. “My Lady,” he says with a bow of his head. “The King wanted to have breakfast with you, but he has been called away, Orcs again,” he says apologetically, placing a breakfast tray over Elorean’s lap and setting a plate on the floor for her new companion. The animal drops to the floor with the grace of a feline before wolfing down the meat like a hungry dog. 

Bastian stands at attention in the doorway, happy to be serving Elorean and not Illysia. He watches the elleth eat, amused. It is unlike her to be so hungry. She is still painfully thin and he pays close attention to the foods she chooses from her plate, making mental notes to be sure she offered what she likes. Raspberries, he thinks.

As Bastian is removing her tray, Aleial bustles in and embraces her friend. She sets to work immediately. Although Thranduil and Bastian were shocked at the condition of Elorean’s wounds, Aleial is relieved. They are so much better since the last time she treated her at the healing quarters. She applies some ointment and covers the deepest lash with gauze. 

Aleial dresses Elorean, green leggings, brown boots and a soft, cream colored tunic. She makes two small braids in Elorean’s hair, pulling it back into a clip at the nape of her neck. “I am so glad you are back,” Aleial says kissing Elorean on the cheek and squeezing her friend’s hands. “Thranduil says you may go anywhere you wish.” She sighs deeply at Elorean’s silence and makes an excuse to leave, sensing her friend would like some time alone. 

A guard notifies Bastian when Elorean leaves the Halls. The guard follows her, staying far enough behind to give her space as the King has ordered. Bastian has two sentries reporting to him today. He has taken it upon himself to have another watch Illysia.

Elorean first goes to check on Luthaniel’s horse, the fox falling into step beside her. Navar is out of his stall and in the pasture romping with a grey mare. He runs to the fence line, whinnying when he sees Elorean, and she feeds him a handful of sugar cubes she has stashed in her pocket. 

His hair has grown back, concealing his scars and he when she sweeps her hands over his shining coat, she can feel that he is strong and has recovered from his wounds. Satisfied with her visit, Elorean rubs Navar’s nose and turns to cross the fields, headed for the one place she has not been to for many years. Home.

The stone structure appears smaller to her then she remembers. The flowers and shrubs have gone wild and there are no gardens to speak of anymore, although the orange bellies of a few pumpkins peek from among the vines out back. 

Elorean walks up the three slate steps and pushes open the heavy, wooden door. The rusted hinges creak in protest. The furniture is covered in dust cloths, but everything is as she remembers. 

She goes to stand at the kitchen window and watches the ghosts of three children running through the yard, laughing and jousting with sticks from the large oak trees that border the property. She can hear Landinir and Luthaniel’s voices shouting for her to keep up as they race to the shed.

Her eyes well, growing wet. Salty droplets moisten her lips. Elorean turns away from the memory and walks slowly down the hallway, running her hand along the wall until she reaches the room her bother and cousin shared. She enters cautiously, afraid of the grief mounting inside her. 

Landinir’s jacket hangs on the back of the door and Elorean takes it down and hugs it to her body before slipping her arms into the sleeves. 

Glancing around the room, her eyes land on a stuffed elk atop Luthaniel’s bureau. It is a replica of the King’s war beast, complete with stiffly packed, expansive horns. It was one of Luthaniel’s prized possessions. 

Elorean lies down on Luthaniel’s bed, sinking her head into his pillow. She clutches the stuffed elk to her chest, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” she sobs over and over again like a mantra. The guard stands outside, posted at the front door, not wanting to intrude. His orders are to keep his distance and keep her safe, he is not to interfere with her unless she is in danger. 

Thranduil returns to the Halls quickly, confident Feren and his soldiers have successfully chased off the offending Orc pack. A company has been left to patrol the border where the Orc’s crossed and Thranduil’s leadership is no longer essential there. He is anxious to get back to Elorean, he did not want to leave her so soon after her return.

As he takes his stallion to the stables, the King spots Elorean's fox there. The attendant informs him that Elorean visited Landinir’s horse earlier, then left, a guard following behind her. The stable hand points in the direction she went. As he does, the fox leaps to its feet and trots in the direction the attendant is pointing. He travels about 30 feet before stopping to turn and look at Thranduil, swishing his tail. 

Thranduil follows him, still on his horse, his personal guards flanking him as they cross several fields. Felix leads them through a clearing where an abandoned stone cottage stands among overgrown foliage. Thranduil spies the guard he assigned to Elorean, positioned outside the door. 

Dismounting, the King orders his guards to wait with the horses. Elorean’s sentry bows as Thranduil approaches, “My Lord, she is inside,” he says holding the door open for the King. 

The fox darts through Thranduil’s legs and enters the house first. The King follows it through a dusty sitting room, a kitchen and down a short hallway. He can hear Elorean sobbing. He quickly realizes this must have been her home as he passes a room with a child’s drawings of plants hung on the walls, like the early drawings in her journal. A bed stands in the middle of the room, draped in a pink, embroidered coverlet. It is a boy’s room he finds her in, wearing her brother’s jacket and clutching a toy replica of a war elk. 

As he goes to her, Thranduil stops for a moment listening. She is speaking in between her cries and a flood of relief washes over him. As much as it pains him to see her like this, he is grateful to hear her voice. 

He kneels next to her to trying to understand her words. She is saying she is sorry to Luthaniel. Thranduil finds her sorrow agonizing and he lifts her into his arms as he sits on the edge of the bed, cradling her while she cries. The fox is at his feet staring with his head cocked. 

Elorean feels as though she will cry forever, that she cannot endure the guilt of knowing she somehow caused Luthaniel’s death. But she has cried herself to exhaustion and she quiets save for the short hiccupping breaths that intermittently interrupt her steadying breathing pattern. 

Thranduil stands from the bed lifting her in his arms and the stuffed elk falls to the floor. He carries her to his horse where his guards are waiting. When he turns to mount, he sees the fox trotting from the house carrying the toy elk. Felix follows the King to the palace, ferrying the toy in his mouth all the home. 

The King’s stallion halts at the palace entry and Elorean sits up straight rubbing her eyes. She slides down the side of the horse without assistance, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Thranduil hands his horse off and goes to her side, taking her hand in his. Her eyes are downcast, bruised and puffy from crying as he leads her inside. 

Bastian has had an interesting but fruitful day. According to the report he has received, Illysia left the palace and went to the prison where she visited the Lady Gwinithiel. After her visit, she went to the greenhouses at the healing quarters where she took clippings of several herbs including stinging nettle, red clover and raspberry leaves. 

This prompted him to visit to the King’s library where Elorean’s medical books still remain on a table in the corner. He was at first relieved to learn Illysia could not use these herbs to poison anyone, but was most intrigued to find what she has brought back to the palace with her is fertility herbs. 

“With child indeed,” he scoffs. He intends to do something about this later, what exactly he is not sure yet. For now he has received word that Thranduil has returned and he goes to see to the final preparations for dinner. 

Elorean stumbles twice going into the palace, her feet feel unsteady and the lights seem too bright, they are making her dizzy. “Elorean?” the King stops, wrapping an arm around her waist, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she answers in a soft voice. Thranduil takes her face in his hands upon hearing her speak. The red rims and half-moon, bluish tinges under her eyes makes them appear violet in color. When he looks into them, he can see her looking back at him and he smiles, fighting the urge to kiss her. He settles for a small peck on her forehead. 

“Are you hungry?” 

“I think so,” Elorean answers bring her hand to her stomach, looking unsure.

Thranduil escorts her to his room and Bastian arrives with the food cart behind them. He pours them both a goblet of wine and sees them seated before he brings their plates. “What is the name of your Fox?” Thranduil asks, trying to gently lead her into a conversation, wanting badly to keep her talking. 

“Radagast called him Felix.”

Bastian takes in a deep breath, so very pleased to hear her speaking again. He serves the King first and then Elorean, giving her the same salad she had the day she disappeared, remembering how much she liked it. He watches her closely as she stares at it, just like she did the first time he put this unusual cuisine in front of her. 

He tilts his head questioningly at her reaction. She picks up her fork and touches the top of the ball. When it blooms open on her plate revealing the berries and nuts inside, she looks genuinely surprised.

To the King’s bewilderment, Bastian walks over to the table and kneels down next to her. “Elorean?” 

When she turns to look at the servant he asks, “Do you know what my name is?”

She looks at him for a long time, blinks, and shakes her head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“It is okay My Lady,” Bastian says smiling at her. 

As they finish the meal, a weary guard presents at the door, “My Lord, Feren has returned.”

Thranduil lifts his napkin from his lap and places it on the table. He kisses the top of Elorean’s head. “I will be but a moment Elora,” he says, leaving to take report from his Captain. The fox is in the hallway next to an empty plate staring at him. “Felix,” Thranduil says, the animal’s ears perk up and rotate slightly.

The Orc problem is growing worse, Thranduil thinks as he returns from being briefed by Feren. The darkness is spreading. It is becoming more dangerous for his forces that are defending their home. 

“My Lord?” It is Bastian, stopping the King before he enters his room.

“Yes?”

“She knows my name.”

“What?”

“Elorean knows my name. She received a severe blow to the head, My Lord, I believe it has affected her memory.” 

Thranduil pauses for a long moment.

“Thank you Bastian.” He says, turning to go to her. 

Elorean is sitting on the bed clutching the stuffed elk, tears are slipping from her eyes.

“Elora,” Thranduil says softly, cupping her cheek and turning her head towards him, “Can you tell me what happened that day?” 

He sees her shudder before she closes her eyes and sobs “Luthaniel was killed, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.” 

“Elorean,” the King says, kneeling in front of her, “Do you remember what happened?” 

“No, No…..Nooo “she chokes. “It hurts, it hurts so bad,” she is crying hard now and her hands reach up to grip her head as she draws herself into a fetal position. 

Bastian hears her cries as he enters and rushes over. “Get Aleial!” Thranduil orders and Bastian hurries off to fetch her. 

Remembering what Radagast had told him, Thranduil turns out the lights and finds the bottle containing the dark liquid given to him by the wizard.


	40. Chapter 40

“Hold on myri,” Thranduil soothes, “Hold on.” He watches helplessly as Elorean clutches her head and writhes in pain. 

Elorean hears Aleial’s voice in the room and tastes the bitter liquid she remembers, the one Radagast had given her for the headaches.  
It has an immediate effect. The blinding torment pounding behind her eyes subsides and she drifts off into a hazy sleep, enclosed in Thranduil’s arms. 

When she awakes, Elorean is alone in her room. A guard stands in her doorway and she is suddenly gripped in fear. Images of a guard in the same uniform shaking her awake flash in her mind. She leaps from the bed, grabbing her sword from the corner behind the sitting chair. 

“My Lady?” the guard asks, confused, looking behind him to see what has frightened her before realizing it is he she is wielding her weapon at. He steps back from the doorway with his hands in the air and shouts for Bastian. He has seen the King’s elleth fight and has no desire to attempt to disarm her. He could not do so without wounding her, she is a worthy opponent.

Bastian does not respond. He and Aleial are at the healing quarters. Aleial is giving him several doses of the month long pregnancy preventative he has convinced her he needs for an elleth he knows. He is pleased that she has accepted his story and is more than willing to help. 

Bastian will be preparing Illysia’s favorite breakfast in just a few hours, laced with the birth control, seeing to it that she does not become pregnant with the King’s child even if she does manage to somehow get into his bed again. The servant has caught her sneaking around the King’s hallways twice since he moved her to the other side of the palace.

Thranduil leaves Elorean under the watch of his trusted, accomplished guard for a bit while he goes to his study to complete some work. She has been sleeping peacefully most of the night and he wants to not leave her when she wakes. He is taking care of a few pressing matters now so he will be free to be with her when the sun rises. 

Returning to his rooms, he finds Elorean standing in the hallway in her night shift. She has his sentry pinned up against the wall, the tip of her weapon at his throat. The King's warrior shows remarkable restraint, hands raised above his head, nowhere near the hilt of his sword, trying to talk her down. 

Thranduil walks up quietly behind her, sword ready, and catches her blade under his, drawing it away from the guard, the slick ring of steel sliding against steel echoes through the long passage.

“Elorean,” he says firmly, stepping between her and the soldier. She looks down, staring at her bare feet.

“What is it myrialor?” he says softly now.

“I don't know, I thought he was going to take me.”

“Take you where Elora?”

She turns her head and looks down the hallway, her blade clanking as it falls to the ground. She begins walking, her unshod feet making no sound on the stone floor. The guard breathes a heavy sigh of relief and begins to follow his charge, the King at his side. 

Elorean zig zags through the hallways until she reaches a small, dark corridor and she turns. The guard pulls a torch from the wall to light the way. It is a narrow passage, never used, but the King knows it. 

Thranduil feels something under the toe of his boot and he stops, taking a step back. The sentry shines the light on the floor and the King bends down, picking up a white button, smeared with dried blood. The torch illuminates a large dark stain gainst the wall next to where it is found. Thranduil winces, recognizing the button from her night shift, knowing the blood is hers. He lets her go as far as the door at the end of the hall that leads outside, it is unlocked. 

Thranduil orders the guard to find the keeper of the keys to investigate how this door came to be unsecured. He wraps his arm around Elorean’s waist leading her back to his chamber, wishing he could take this from her.

The memories of that night are flooding back to Elorean now….the note, the guard, the blow to her head, Callistia, the Orc attack, and the King’s forces entering just as the whip hits her back. Thranduil feels her shiver and he takes off his robe and draping it over her shoulders. 

When they enter his room, Thranduil pulls her into his lap in the sitting chair, enveloping her in his arms.

“Tell me everything you remember,” he says. She does. 

It is hard for the King to witness her pain, the chilling darkness that fills her eyes when she speaks unhinges him. He wants to say something to console her, but the time for him to do that has long since passed. He succeeded only in making an unbearable situation worse for her and then he completely abandoned her when she needed him most.

“I am sorry myri,” he says through his tears. He reaches up taking her face in hands. His eyes are hooded and regret is etched on his finely contoured features. “Please forgive me.” Sinking into the depths of her indigo blue eyes, he sees that she already has. 

“I will get you through this Elora,” he promises, pressing his lips gently to hers before pulling her into a tight embrace.

Bastian and Aleial return to the palace halls to find the King and Elorean asleep in his chair. Bastian heads to the kitchens to prepare Illysia’s breakfast. He is in the east wing when the commotion occurs. 

A large pack of Orc’s have attacked the patrol on the southern border, there are wounded. The King is being summoned. 

Elorean is on her feet dressing before Thranduil. An attendant comes in with the King's heavy battle armor. "

Where is Bastian?” Thranduil asks, allowing the servant to buckle the plate at his waist. 

“He is attending to Illysia,” the servant answers innocently. 

Elorean freezes and turns, her eyes slowly tracking until they meet Thranduil’s. She is unable to read his stony expression. She looks down at the floor and continues to dress, careful now not to expose herself, slipping on her leggings under her shift. 

There is no time for discussion, Thranduil has an army to command and Mirkwood’s borders are being threatened. Elorean is needed to attend to the wounded. 

Unaware of the upheaval going on in the King’s wing of the palace, Bastian smiles watching Illysia drain her cup of freshly pressed peach juice. He offers her a refill as she lets out an unladylike belch. Illyssia eats every single bite on her food tray and rubs her hands over her belly, checking to see if her efforts to gain weight are starting to show.


	41. Chapter 41

Illysia. Elorean sighs, Thranduil still has her at the palace. Why? The thought rattles her as she leaves, the King’s guard and a fox shadowing her to medical pavilion where the injured are being treated. 

A triage is in place when she arrives and Madam Meridithel is not happy to see her. Elorean does not care and sets to work on the most critical patient. She can tell the new matriarch is fuming. Elorean knows it is only because of her position with the King that Meridithel is showing restraint. What exactly her position is with the King now, she is unsure, but today she is grateful for it. 

Pushing her worries and doubts aside, Elorean focuses her energy on healing a young soldier who has been pierced by a poisoned Orc arrow. The soldier has been black carded, he is too injured to survive and only pain medication and comfort care are to be given, but Elorean holds out hope for him. She has learned much from the books in the King’s library and she knows she will not be able to live with herself if she does not try to save him. She is struck by how much he reminds her of her brother Landinir. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Aleial with another patient, another black card, and when she has a moment, she goes and gives Aleial instructions on how to treat him. Elorean scans all of those treating patients throughout the day, but Illysia is nowhere to be found among her fellow healers. 

The tide of incoming wounded subsides when Thranduil reaches the battle field with his company. Word comes that the King and his forces have defeated the Orc’s long before the healer’s work is done. 

Thranduil returns from the battle victorious, yet he is aware of the casualties. He has been informed that five are dead, but when he reaches the palace of Mirkwood, he is told only two have died, although there are many wounded. Aleial has already retired to her quarters, exhausted. He calls for her to be brought to him. 

“Elorean?” he asks when she is presented in her night shift, rubbing her sleepy eyes.

“She is with a wounded soldier, My Lord. She pulled two others from the poison after they were deemed gone, but the third, I think he is beyond saving, she would not leave him.”

Thranduil nods and dismisses her. He goes to bathe and change, he is weary and covered in Orc filth. The battle that was won was hard fought. He himself was clipped by an Orc blade, a sacrifice he made willingly to save one of his warriors. 

He would prefer for Elorean to be here under his watch, resting like Aleial. She still needs time to recover and the idea of her working so hard does not sit well with him, but he wants to allow her as much freedom as he can.

The young soldier Elorean is working on is finally showing signs of improvement and she makes some mental notes to transcribe to her medical journal. She plans to spend the night by his side. His condition is still critical, but for now she is grateful he is stable. 

Feeling tired and nauseated, she steps out to get a breath of fresh air. Two guards are outside smoking a pipe, talking about the King and how he valiantly took the blade of an Orc to save one of their comrades who was but a second away from being cut down. 

“The King was wounded?” she asks, the alarm in her voice taking the guards by surprise. 

“Yes,” one of them responds. She is gone before he can say anything further. 

Elorean runs and her shadow guard has a hard time keeping up with her, but Felix is right on her heels. When she reaches the palace, Thranduil is not in his room and she panics. Rushing down the hall, she finds him with Bastian in the pools. His long silver hair is wet. He is standing, streams of water trickling down his muscular frame. Bastian is examining a wound on his left bicep, his arm is dripping blood.

Elorean runs to him, pushing Bastian out of the way. When Thranduil feels her hands on him he turns to find her crying.

“You're hurt,” she says running electric fingers over his wound.

“Thranduil smiles “It’s just a scratch Elora, do not cry.”

The wound is a long laceration and the area is bruised badly, but it is not deep.

“Some of the arrows were poisoned,” Elorean says, still crying. She swipes her fingers over the cut bringing his vital fluid to her nose to smell it before putting her red tinged fingers into her mouth, tasting his blood to see if it is tainted with poison. 

The act is so intimate that Thranduil is spellbound, he cannot move, he simply stares at her. He has had many elleth’s offering themselves to him over the ages, dedicated to pleasing him in every way imaginable. 

Elorean has no aspirations for power or position. She has no interest in the finery of the palace and is taken aback by the notion of having someone waiting to attend to her every need. She is not standing before him crying and tasting his blood because he is a King and she aspires to be a Queen. She is doing this because she loves him and he knows at this moment, he has never experienced being loved this way before.

Elorean dries his wound with a towel once she has assured herself he has not been poisoned. Feeling immensely relieved, she puts her hand over it to stop the bleeding. Thranduil has gone completely silent and is staring at her as if he has seen a ghost and it makes her worry, so she starts looking him over for other injuries.

Good heavens, he is so beautiful. Her hands fly over his porcelain skin, reading the intensity of his blood flow, his heart rate, his oxygenation, scouting for any damage. She can find nothing wrong and when she looks into his eyes to gauge his pupils, he is smiling at her.

He pulls her into the pool. For this fragment of time, he wants only to be one with her. But the water around him reminds him there are cracks and leaks everywhere, and paradise is not a permanent state. 

Illysia is carrying his child and this is the harsh reality of the situation, something he cannot remove from the equation. The gift he has in his arms is illusory. The agony of not being able to give himself completely to her fills him with a sense of deprivation beyond anything he has ever known. He contemplates sending her away in this moment, the grief of losing her already giving him a taste of what an eternity without her will be like.


	42. Chapter 42

“Thranduil,” Elorean utters distantly.

“Yes myri,” he answers softly, sensing the stress in her voice.

“I don’t feel so good.”

‘What is wrong Elora?” His eyes fill with concern and he raises a hand to her cheek. 

Elorean watches as his face grows fuzzy. His voice fades, moving further and further away. She clings to his arms, she is falling, the world around her is spinning and the lights are growing dim.

Thranduil steps from the pool to catch her, calling her name. Bastian lifts her from the King’s arms while he hastily throws on his robe and they take her to his chambers. Elorean is already coming to by the time they enter his room and Thranduil lays her across the bed.

“My Lady, have you eaten today?” Bastian asks, as her eyes open, the worry in his voice evident.

“Elorean has to stop and think for a moment.

“No, I guess not,” she says.

Bastian nods, leaving to prepare her a snack.

Thranduil wishes now that he would have insisted she return to the palace earlier to rest and eat. She has not recovered yet from her ordeal and it is easy for him to sense her weakened state. 

He still cannot stop staring at her. The thought of being without her feels like utter annihilation. Will she stay if she knows? Can he even ask that of her?

Bastian comes in with a tray, ginger ale, crusty bread, and a cup of raspberries. Thranduil thinks it an odd snack, but Bastian has become the expert on getting her to eat, so he waits while she nibbles on the bread and sips the fizzy ginger drink. 

Elorean does not eat much and pushes the tray away. Thranduil takes the cup of raspberries and begins feeding them to her one by one. He is enchanted by the sight of the plump, red berries and his fingers pressing against her lips. With the next one, he slips a finger into her mouth and through her teeth. He draws in a sharp breath when she reflexively bites down. 

She looks up at him, unsure, and he is undone by the sight of her lips wrapped around his finger and by the deep blush creeping over her cheeks. Much time has passed and many events have transpired since he has known her and her original shyness with him has returned. Withdrawing his finger from the budding O of her mouth, he pulls her in and kisses her, slowly, softly as if she is a piece of fine china, easily broken. 

If he could evoke any force within him to halt this, he would. He would run from her. He would send her away from him and the pain he has inflicted upon her. He would shield her from that she has yet to suffer from his actions with Illysia. If he could free her from the bondage of his love and leave her to find peace elsewhere, he would let her go.

But he has no armor against this, no will that can overcome his feelings for her. He is powerless to stop what has been triggered. He needs her like he needs air and water and he is coming to fully accept this truth. Time ebbs and all thoughts of letting her go cease to exist. 

His hands are on her, undressing her, his mouth molded to hers. Her body alights under his touch and when he presses her down into his bed, slipping off his robe, it is as if she is no longer a separate entity, she is a part of him. He licks, nips and sucks, drawing her into him. There is an eternity in this space with her, an unknown realm that exists nowhere else in the universe but when he is with her. 

Her hands hold his face, before her fingers run through his damp hair and over his chest. When they roam down his waist and flutter tentatively over his shaft, he groans. She is curious and he has not yet allowed her to explore him. He does not pull her away, but yields himself to the fate of her wandering touch. 

He is like velvet and rock, Elorean thinks, running her fingers over his crown. At his tip, she presses in gently with the edge of two fingers. A warm, sleek fluid weeps from his slit. Her fingers, wet with him, slide down, circling the under rim of his cap. He inhales sharply and shudders. Her hand travels down his length, feeling his blood pulsing in the bulging vein. She takes all of him in her hand and the heaviness and heat of him gives her chills.

She pushes him off of her and then off the bed and kneels in front of him. She strokes him and studies him with the fascination of a child. When she takes him into her mouth, Thranduil wraps his fingers in her hair and throws his head back, closing his eyes. 

She kisses and licks him, her tongue teasing and tasting down the long length of his shaft. Ringing him tightly at his base, she runs him through her tight fist taking one ballock into her mouth, then two, rolling them over her tongue.

He is struck when her tentative fondling subsides and she suddenly swallows him in one fell swoop. Gradually, she increases the tension around his swollen cock. She torments him with soft motions, flicking, and grazing him between her teeth before the true sucking begins, slowly, deliberately at first, taking him in deeper and deeper until the tip of him is bumping against the back of her throat.

She begins drinking him in, faster now, rhythmically, with intent. The suction tightens around him, and Thranduil’s breathing becomes rough and hard. He is being driven in her mouth to the point of no return. As he nears his finality a moan escapes from him.

He grips her hair, tilting her head upwards slightly, careful not to break her seal, until their eyes meet. It takes him a moment to focus completely on the soft blue orbs peeking up at him from his point of immersion. “Good Girl,” he says, in a husky rasp, before the blinding, white hot light takes him, and he floods his utter pleasure into her thirsty mouth.

It is the strength of a King that allows such a reach, so soon from his ruin. He lifts his kneeling subject up from her place of worship on the floor before him. Her eyes are watering, and she still swallows, catching her breath. He steadies her against him until her gulping stops, then he lays her on the bed, stretching out alongside her. 

His hair is a glorious tangled mess, when she looks up to him, having not been dried and combed straight by his servants. His eyes are hazy crystals of ice blue, fringed in thick black lashes and his angular features appear relaxed and rugged from his love making. Elorean sighs.

The corners of his lips tug upward. He is nowhere near done with her yet. Thranduil buries her mouth in his, tasting the sweet tang of raspberries and the salty bitterness of his ecstasy.

Illysia finds herself on her knees in the gravel. The elf she had chosen, the one who most resembles the King, has refused her, with a great deal of humor! He claimed to be beholden to another. Illysia did not find it at all amusing. She is frustrated that she allowed the pompous elf to humiliate her the way he did, remembering how he shoved her away, laughing when she all but threw herself to him, naked at his feet.

Now she has been forced to pick a less desirable candidate who is having difficulty performing, so she kneels in front of him, his lilting cock in her mouth. She is frantically sucking. Liquid slurping and gagging sounds erupt from her drooling mouth. 

Just when she thinks he is hard enough to penetrate her and complete the final act, she tastes the acid chemicals oozing from his head. She breaks from him spitting and cursing. He reaches up a hand and finishes himself, making guttural, animal sounds as he stares at her tits.

Bastian’s guard watches on from a distance, ready to report all of her escapades to the King’s servant. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bit of dried meat to chew on as he watches the show, thinking how entertaining his new assignment has proven to be.


	43. Chapter 43

Having recovered himself enough to take her, Thranduil stops, propping himself up over her.

“Elora,” he says catching a lock of her hair between his fingers. He smiles when she looks up to him.

“I need you to remember something.”

Elorean waits for a long moment before he speaks again.

“I love you Elorean. Never doubt that, no matter what.”

Thranduil reaches over to the nightstand and pulls something from the drawer. 

“This was my Mother’s, given to her by my Father,” he says slipping a twisted silver band over her finger. The jewel is a multifaceted, starlight diamond. Elorean has never seen a gemstone this big before.

“Thranduil, I can't, it’s too….,”

He places his fingers over her lips.

“Shhh...It is not enough Elorean. It is an eternity ring. Always remember how much I love you. Remember this,” he says, roping her in his arms and taking possession of her with his mouth. His intensity is raw and Elorean feels her blood stir. 

He takes his time with her. His touch, his mouth, his tongue play along the stings of her nerves like a master musician fine tuning an exquisite instrument. There is not an inch of her he does not feel, no place on her body his lips do not linger, not a single part of her he does not taste.

There is something different, her intuitive senses are sounding an alarm. Thranduil is always in command, confident. He has no shame, no abashment. He owns his body and hers. But now there is desperation, a need in him she does not understand. It is palpable, she can smell it, hear it, and almost see it.

The incoming tide cannot be slowed, despite her misgivings. He is so fully present with her in this moment, filling her so completely, there is no room for her thoughts or her doubts. She is surrounded by a pulsating field. Nothing exists but him and he overrides every function of her body save for her gasping for vital air. 

Soon, even her breathing stops and she is swimming underwater. Everything inside her shifts, she is vibrating on different energy frequency. She can feel her heart beating against his heart, and here, where they intersect, they merge. She is no more, they are one. 

He holds her close in his center, for too long he knows, it is hard for him to let her go. “I love you, myri,” he whispers before he splits from the place they orbit together, meeting her energy with an equal, opposing force. “Come for me Elora,” he orders.

The waves start in her toes and her body seizes, “It is okay. Stay with me myri,” he says, pulling the current up in her slowly, grounding her to his root. She shudders as the sensation courses over her knees and thighs, rippling through her entire body inch by inch.

“Breath Elora,’ he says, guiding her, sensing she is about to pass into oblivion, and when she inhales, she cries, calling out his name. “Tell me myrialor,” he breathes in to her ear. She is wracked in sobs as each pulse passes through her.

He channels her, suspended in time, until they implode off of each other, his hot essence pouring into her in a polarized state of mutual splendor. 

Decompressing, they relax, enclosed in eachothers arms. He stays inside her at rest as they fall into peaceful, meditative slumber.

Each time she stirs during the night he takes her, again and again, as if she might disappear from him when the sun rises. 

Bastian comes in early, waking the King, there is an urgent matter. Thranduil halts him with his hand, and the servant nods, backing away, giving the King another moment.

Elorean is spooned with him, her back against his chest. She is sleeping and he enters her from behind, reaching over her to stroke her clit as he thrusts. She comes again, still in a dream and his body quakes with powerful force as he releases inside her. “I love you Elorean,“ he whispers in her ear before forcing himself to leave her side.


	44. Chapter 44

Elorean awakes in bed alone. She gazes down at the ring Thranduil placed on her finger the night before. Something is wrong, but she has no idea what it could be. Maybe she should take the ring off, put it back in the nightstand, she thinks. It is a stunning piece of jewelry, the likes of which she has never seen before. It does not feel right, for her to wear his Mother’s ring, a gift from King Oropher to his beloved. 

Bastian arrives with breakfast. “Good Morning My Lady. The King had an urgent matter to attend to this morning, he will be requiring your company soon.” 

“Good Morning, I would like to go check on my patient.”

“Of course,” the servant replies pleasantly “But first, you must break your fast.”

Elorean nods, knowing Bastian must be under Thranduil’s orders to not let her leave without eating.

She partakes in a light breakfast, crepes and berries, and she acquiesces when Bastian encourages her to eat the poached egg he has prepared for her, stressing the need for protein.

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” the servant asks smiling, when she is finished.

Elorean blushes, she is still tangled in the sheets and suddenly becomes aware that they exhibit the spoils of the numerous times Thranduil made love to her the night before. The thought of what happened in the bed she is sitting in over the past, seemingly endless hours, causes her blush to turn crimson.

“Yes,” Elorean says, getting up without looking behind, allowing the Bastian to lead her to the pools. She is unable to meet his eyes. 

She is nervous when the servant pulls her night shift away and she jerks when he places his hands on the marks across her back. “You are healing well,” he says. Sensing her discomfort, he eases her into the water and begins singing to her. His voice is like an instrument and Elorean melts into the warm water, immediately, losing herself in his beautiful song. 

When she is dressed and ready, Thranduil’s guard follows her to the medical pavilion. Her patient is recovering and she is elated. She works on him for a while, before checking on a few of the other injured. She promised Bastian she would not stay long, knowing Thranduil would be returning for her shortly. When she tries to leave, she finds Madam Meridithel has other plans for her. 

“Where do you think you are going Elorean?” the Matriarch asks through tight, thin lips.

“I have to return to the palace.”

“No, you have work to do and you are already late,” she snaps. 

Meridithel knows that Elorean has been staying at the palace, but she also knows the condition the King left her in when he returned her to her position at the healer’s quarters not so long ago. He does not care for her. 

Whatever it is Elorean is doing in the King’s Halls, she cannot be of much importance to him, Meridithel mistakenly assumes, before assigning Elorean to clean up duty.

There are buckets of vomit and soiled clothing. The matriarch orders Elorean to attend to the sordid task. Elorean wants to return to the palace, but the uncertainty of her situation plagues her. She is not the only healer Thranduil keeps in his Halls and she feels powerless to challenge the authority of Meridithel. 

She carries the buckets outside to dump in the waste bin. The smells are overwhelming as the slightly fermented liquids slosh in their open container. She makes it just outside the door before wrenching, losing all of her breakfast. She is sweaty and cold and wishes for a sip of something to drink, but she knows she will not be allowed a break for some time. Holding her breath, she dumps the offending waste into the dumpster, before heading back with the empty pails. 

Thranduil’s imposing figure is standing in the front of the hospital when she comes back in, her fox at his side. Meridithel is bowing in front of him. Elorean sets down the buckets, wiping her mouth. His eyes seek her out. 

“Elorean, come!” he orders. Neither his voice, nor his face betrays a single emotion as he turns on his heel, leaving. 

Elorean follows, stopping to scoop a sip of water from the barrel at the front of the room. She swipes a sprig of parsley to chew on under Meridithel’s scathing glare. 

Thranduil is waiting for her outside, his eyes cold and unyielding.

“I’m sorry My Lord,” Elorean says looking down, wringing her hands together, “I told her I needed to return to your palace but she would not let me go.”

Thranduil lifts her chin and her eyes slowly move upwards to meet his. His expression is furious and she gulps, a piece of parsley stuck in her throat. 

She flinches when he pulls his hand away, missing the disquieted expression on his face when she does. He leaves brusquely, storming back into the building.

Elorean stands outside shaking with the guard and her fox, wondering what just happened. A moment later, he returns, taking her arm. She clears her throat, trying to dislodge the leafy green herb hopelessly plastered against the wall of her esophagus. 

“Elorean, you are not beholden to her, you may come and go as you please, she will not trouble you again,” he says wrapping his arm around her waist possessively. 

“Thank you, My Lord” Elorean mumbles hoarsely, stunned and blinking.

Thranduil is disturbed by her demeanor. He wishes she knew he would protect her from the overbearing matriarch of the healers. She feels like tinder, easy to ignite and burn, sensitive and unbalanced. 

They return to the palace where Thranduil leaves her with Bastian, instructing the servant to assist her with changing into riding gear. He wants to take her away, to offer her a respite. 

Elorean brushes her mouth out and asks Bastian for a piece of bread, working loose the sticky leaf in the back of her throat. “Are you okay My Lady?” he asks concerned.

“Uh hmm,” Elorean nods, eyes watering. Bastian takes in a deep breath, looking at her worriedly, wrapping an extra piece of soda bread for her pocket just as Thranduil enters. Bastian bows his head and exits.

Elorean has a hard time looking at him. She is grateful the bed sheets have been changed, the traces of the night before no longer evident. 

“Elorean.”

“Yes My Lord?”

“Look at me.”

Elorean peers up at him, blinking.

“Come here Elora.”

Even dressed casually, he is in the finest silk, silver hair laid perfectly over his shoulders.

Elorean tries to straighten and pull back her hair before going to him, but she manages to trip on nothing other than her own two feet.

He catches her by the waist as she lunges forward, slamming against his stone hard chest. She closes her eyes tightly, cringing.

He chuckles, kissing her forehead. 

“What is my name Elorean?”

“Thranduil.”

“What do you call me when you are in my bed myri?”

“Thranduil,” Elorean answers, feeling her cheeks start to burn.

“Good girl. Let us be done with the ‘My Lord’ Elora, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Come with me.” 

Elorean finds her footing as he continues to hold her and when she is stable, they leave the palace together, his arm banded firmly around her waist.


	45. Chapter 45

“Take my arm myri.” Thranduil leads Elorean out past the stables, watching the sunlight play on her golden hair. They reach the place of the wall where he once caught Elorean making her escape and she looks up at him questioningly. 

The depth in her crystal blue eyes pulls him in and he bends down, pressing his lips to hers. Her mouth is soft and blossoms open under his probing. He slips an arm around her lower back bringing her to him. The sound of children shouting stops them, and they both glance up to see a group of little ones running through a field, trying to make a kite to take flight.

“Ready?” he turns to her smiling. He does not want to take her through the gate, remembering her previous reaction to crossing the place where Luthaniel died. He wants nothing to marr this outing. 

She looks confused, but he puts his hands around her waist and gives her a boost. It is as if he is lifting a feather. Once she is perched atop the wall, he climbs up behind her. On the other side, a small company of the King’s guard is assembled

Thranduil and Landinir’s horses are both saddled and waiting. Elorean looks at the King, “I can ride him?” Navar is a trained military horse, not for us by civilians and she knows this. 

“He is yours now Elorean, you can ride him whenever you wish.” 

Although the horse had recovered sufficiently to be used again in battle, Thranduil recognizes that Elorean cares for the animal that was her brother’s charge. He has ordered the horse decommissioned to give to her as a gift. Not to mention a horse from his stable insures she will have one of the most well trained mounts available, a horse that will be dedicated to protecting its rider. 

Her smile unnerves him and he chivalrously assists her in mounting, smiling back at her. Thranduil’s scouts have already scoured the area they are to ride, Thranduil wants to be certain he is not putting Elorean in the path of any danger. A small battalion rides with them as well as a servant although they have been instructed to keep their distance. He cannot risk having anything happen to her.

They start out riding slowly but as they come to a clearing, Thranduil lets his horse break. He has seen Elorean ride before with the cursed Dwarf and she managed his horse quite well. He wants to thoroughly assess her riding skills. 

She nudges Navar into full gear and Thranduil is impressed as she and her brother’s horse ride hard and take the jump over a fallen tree alongside him without a moment of hesitancy. Very few elves and even fewer elleths who are civilians can ride this well. 

When he finally slows the horses and comes up alongside her, she is beaming. Her hair is windblown and full, tumbling down her shoulders and her cheeks are rose kissed. The King’s guards ride up behind them. One of them is leading a magnificent elk. Elorean gasps. 

Thranduil watches her, remembering the first time he saw her, when he was on a war elk and she broke decorum by gaping at the beast, just before meeting his eyes. 

Her eyes, he still can lose himself in their depths, they are like rare gems, pure and luminous. He looks on with her as his guards put the elk through its paces. It has been in training since Thranduil’s previous elk was killed in the battle at Erebor. The animal will soon be ready. 

Thranduil kisses Elorean on the cheek before dismounting and going to the elk. It seems to bow as the King approaches. He leaps onto it as it digs a hoof into the dirt. The guards rush and charge at it as they race around the clearing. 

The animal never flinches and meets every challenge head on. It is remarkably nimble for its size, able to take sharp turns and to stop on a dime. Elorean watches in fascination, cringing several times for fear Thranduil will fall from the beast with the death defying turns and head on charges it makes under his command. 

Soon she begins watching his posture, noting how he moves with the animal and how he balances. She is spellbound and deeply moved by his ability to work with the wild creature.

When the breathless guards finish with the training exercise, Thranduil turns the elk towards Elorean and rides over to her. He holds out his hand to her, “Come Elorean.”

She dismounts and takes the King’s hand. He pulls her onto the back of the giant war elk and takes off at lighting speed. She throws her head back on his shoulder and laughs. The sound is like music to him. He belts his arm around her before taking her through the elk’s motions, sharp angled turns at break neck speeds and soaring jumps over various obstacles on the field. The animal races and bounds, its energy a force in itself. She understands now why the King fights on such a creature, the expansive horns clearing branches from its riders as they run the tree line. 

Elorean is exhilarated, and she tingles where the King’s arm presses against her body. When they finish, Thranduil dismounts, pulling her down with him. The guards come and take the beast as he leads Elorean to a pathway through the trees. 

A single guard is standing in a small open space along with a kitchen servant. A brook with a slight whispering waterfall flows on one side and a blanket is spread on the ground against the trees on the other. 

Elorean is still humming from the thrill of the ride as Thranduil eases her down on the blanket. The servant hands them both a goblet and then prepares two plates. Elorean is starving, having lost her breakfast, she has had nothing else to eat all day. 

Thranduil is pleased to see her eat so heartily. “I will have to take you riding more often Elora, it is good for your appetite.” Elorean smiles before bombarding him with a million questions about the elk and the training and how he rides. 

Resting against the mammoth trunk of an ancient oak, Thranduil cannot remember the last time he enjoyed a conversation so much. Her curiosity is insatiable and she listens to every word he says with rapt attention, eyes wide, he can almost see her thinking. 

They finish with cups of raspberries and cream. The servant clears their plates away and Thranduil leans in to give her a quick kiss but she wraps an arm around his neck and holds him to her mouth. The servant disappears quickly into the trees. 

Thranduil wanted to spend time with her outside of the bedroom today and was not planning on having this turn into a heated frolic. But she is on fire, heat bouncing off of her everywhere. Despite his best efforts to tone down her kiss, it is out of his control. 

She has his clothes off before he even begins to undress her and her hands are all over him, igniting every nerve in his body. She kicks off her boots before he tugs down her leggings and she pulls her own tunic over her head.

He can feel her ribcage, she is so painfully thin, but her breasts are full and round, her hardened nipples dark under his heated gaze. Thranduil curses in elvish, “Elora, do you have any idea what you do to me?” He pulls her over his lap so she is on her knees straddling him. His hands tighten around her jutting hip bones and he pulls her to him, nibbling at her nipples until she yelps. 

He smells of leather and sweat, enticing and intense and Elorean breathes him in. 

Her eyes are closed and her head tipped forward. Watching her face, he swiftly forces her hips down, calculating his move with adept precision. Elorean’s eyes fly open wide and she gasps in astonishment as his full length spears into her tightness like a hot arrow. 

“Elenion Ancalima!, you are so wet,” He stays reaching up to touch her flamed cheek, pulling her in for a probing kiss.

He waits for her body to adjust to him but he does not need to move her. She begins rocking on his length on her own. He can feel her rippling around him, she comes quick and hard crying out his name as the birds scatter from the leaves surrounding them.

She slows, whimpering and he takes her down, hovering over her, burying himself to the hilt inside her again. She winces, still swollen and throbbing, unrecovered, “No,” she cries but he smiles down at her wickedly.

“Oh yes, my dear, yes,” he growls as he delves into her deeply, curving his hips upwards, reaching a place that makes her explode instantly around him again, her body convulsing, her threaded cries filling the air. 

Her mouth opens slightly to protest as he adjusts her underneath him. She is gasping for air when he lunges into her again, touching the tender place that is too sensitive now. She howls in distress but he swallows her sound and moves relentlessly over the strung out nerves of her center. 

Elorean wrestles to move her body away from the punishing stimulation, pushing his shoulders off of her, but he locks her wrists in his hand, holding them above her head. 

“Shhhh, myri,” he says, his voice a soft as a summer breeze. “Trust me Elora,” he says waiting a few seconds for her to still. 

“Breathe, myri , breathe,” he says, and when she does, he lets go of her wrists and pulls one of her legs over his shoulder, burying himself inside her. His body slams against her breaking point inside and every tingling spot radiates outward making her scream and come so hard she bites her lip drawing blood. Her fingernails rake into his back leaving red streak marks.

Thranduil looks into her eyes as she falls apart and he thickens with need. He sucks the droplets of blood from her bottom lip and his stunning blue eyes grow wild and fierce. “Elora, you are so good, so good,” he murmurs, riveted inside her. His body shakes as the waves tear through him and he latches onto her moaning in feral ecstasy.

Thranduil holds her for a moment, regaining his bearing before kissing her forehead and rolling off of her. Elorean catches her breath and covers her face in her hands. “Elora,” Thranduil says worriedly, moving her hands away, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she groans. “Were they watching us?” she asks mortified.

Thranduil takes her in his arms, grinning. He has never been without a guard, since the day he was born and has no inhibitions about his privacy being violated. His guards and attendants are like extensions of himself and he finds her embarrassment and modesty endearing. 

“They are not watching you myrialor, they are watching over you. It is okay,” he says kissing her forehead. He helps her dress, reassuring her that nobody is ogling her from the bushes. They head out, his company is waiting in the clearing with their horses ready. Not a single soldier gives any indication they know what has just transpired behind the trees and for that, Elorean is relieved.

She is tired when they arrive and Thranduil takes her to his rooms pulling off her boots. He lays with her on the bed until her breaths become even and deep, pulling a blanket over her before leaving for his study to mediate a few written disputes.

***

While Elorean sleeps, Illysia is slipping into the King’s side of the palace. She has found two blond haired elves to mate with, but she is worried about how much time has passed since the one time she laid with the King. 

She wants there to be no question once she conceives, that it is Thraduil’s child she carries. She is determined to have him one more time so there will be no doubt. Her timing is perfect, she is certain she can get away unnoticed. The guard who watches her is taking his evening break and if she hurries, she should be able to catch the King in his quarters.

She has taken great care with herself today, staining her lips and cheeks. Her hair is adorned with a circlet and she is wearing a flowing, gossamer gown. Thranduil would be a fool to turn this down, she thinks, smiling as she sneaks into his chambers.

Illysia is taken aback and revolted to find the King absent from his bedroom and the whore Elorean sleeping soundly in his bed. It is time, she reasons, to send the bedraggled mutt packing once and for all.

She grabs a glass of water from the nightstand and throws it on the sleeping elleth. Elorean bolts upright in bed with a gasp. “Get out!” Illysia hisses. 

Elorean is disoriented for a moment and is filled with a rush of panic remembering the guard who took her from the same bed not long ago. But it is not a guard standing over her. It is the beautiful Illysia, the other elleth the King is keeping in his Halls.

Elorean sits up blinking and quickly removes herself from the bed. Remembering being taken barefoot in her night shift, she quickly retrieves her boots, slipping them on, keeping one eye on Illysia. Standing to her full height, Elorean retrieves her sword. 

Not backing down she faces off with Illysia. “What do want?” Elorean asks.

“I want you to go. Now!” Illysia spits. “He is just using you until I have his baby. He loves me too much to touch me now during my pregnancy, but make no mistake, now that Legolas is gone, I am carrying the heir to the throne. I am Thranduil’s Queen.”

Elorean blinks, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh quit crying little mouse, you did not think he actually cared for you did you? Look at you!”

Elorean takes in Illysia’s long gown and carefully coiffed hair. She is petite, graceful and beautiful, everything Elorean is not. And she is carrying Thranduil's baby, that is why he has kept her at the palace, she is his Queen.

“I am sure he enjoyed you but it is time for you to move on!” Illysia says pointing towards the door.

Elorean grabs her medical journal from the drawer and races from the palace, Thranduil’s guard and her fox follow but she notices neither. She runs to the wall but does not climb over. It is not safe now in the dark, she knows. She panics for a moment, she has no one and nowhere to go. 

Something catches inside her though and propels her forward, even though her legs feel like jelly. Crossing her arms over her midsection, Elorean walks across the long dark fields and finds her way home under the moonlight. 

She goes to her childhood room and crawls under the pink coverlet, crying herself to sleep in her own bed, her empty stomach protesting and a dejected fox curled at her feet. The King’s guard stands outside on the porch unsure of what has transpired but obeying his master’s orders to protect but not interfere.  
***  
Thranduil returns to his chambers looking forward to a late evening meal and more time with Elorean. He hopes she has rested and will be awake for him, she seems exhausted lately and he finds himself increasingly worried about her condition.

When he enters his room it is not Elorean lying in his bed waiting for him, it is Illysia. His heart skips a beat when he scans the room for her and she is nowhere in sight.


	46. Chapter 46

“Where is she Illysia?” Thranduil’s voice is stone cold.

“How should I know?” Illysia replies innocently. "I was not aware you did not tell her we are expecting."

The King curses outwardly, reeling inside as he turns, exiting the room.

“She is not the Mother of your child! I am!” Illysia shouts at his back. He pays her no mind.

His guard is with her, he tells himself. Wherever she is, the guard will keep her from danger. 

Thranduil finds Aleial, but she has not seen Elorean at all. “She was with you today My Lord,” is the only response he gets from the worried elleth.

**  
Bastian is flabbergasted to learn Elorean is gone again. His Father served King Oropher and he holds a high position in the palace, he is amongst Thranduil’s most trusted inner circle. Kings rise and fall on the backs of servants, Bastian knows this. 

Thranduil’s Mother was killed as a result of a servant who meddled in King Oropher’s affairs. She was slain because she walked into a trap that an unsuspecting servant led her into. Bastian knows what his duties are and he knows the horrific consequences that can result from violating the boundaries of servitude. He has already done too much and cannot be certain Illysia is not carrying the King’s child, even though he is 99 % sure she is not. He has already stepped over the lines.

It is all he can do not to grab the King and shake him silly until he sees what is right in front of him, but the last servant to do something of the sort brought about the death of Thranduil’s beloved Mother, when the King was but a child. 

History was altered because of this. King Oropher took risks he never would have taken had she still been at his side. Bastian knows the story well, although it is kept secret and shared only with those who serve the King where he is most vulnerable, not in war, but in his own Halls, with the ones he holds dear. 

**  
Elorean awakes after a couple of hours, her stomach growling. There is nothing to eat in the abandoned house, but it doesn't matter. She does not care now. The pain in her heart is far greater the pangs of hunger contracting in her belly.

She goes outside, noting Thranduil’s guard standing watch at the front of the house. Felix follows her into the neglected garden out back. He sniffs at one of the over ripened pumpkins that has split open before wandering off in search of food, Elorean thinks. She considers pulling the pumpkin open for its seeds to eat but her stomach lurches at the thought and she decides her hunger is a preferable to raw pumpkin innards. 

It would be so easy to curl up into a ball and just disappear, to be no more she muses. How could she have been such a fool, to think she could have the love of a King? She slips the ring Thranduil gave her off of her finger, shoving it in a pocket. She has been nothing more to him than a Naditu, a willing whore to pass the time while his Queen comes to term with his child. The pain is unbearable and she chokes back a sob.

She cannot return to the healer’s quarters, she knows. This home that she once knew so well is all she has. Brushing the tears from her eyes, she calls up all of her inner strength. There is something strong inside her, a strange and novel force that needs to make a home, a safe place. With all the resolve she can conjure, Elorean moves, one step at a time, pushing all thoughts of Thranduil as far from her as possible.

Retrieving several logs of cut wood from behind the shed, she carries them in and kindles a fire in the wood burning stove. Smoke billows from the chimney. She takes a delicate silver chain from her mother's jewelry chest and threads the ring on it, fastening it on her neck. She is sure now the ring was not a precious gift from Oropher to his beloved Queen, but it probably has some monetary value and she may need to barter it to get her feet on the grown. She convinces herself this is the reason she must keep it safe and close to her. 

Finding a pail, Elorean heads to the stream out back to collect water. There is much cleaning to be done in the forgotten house if she is to make it a nesting place. In the morning, she will open a pumpkin and scoop out some seeds and pulp to bake on the stove to quell the aching hunger inside her, perhaps then she will be able to stomach it.

**  
Thranduil leaves his palace, two of his personal guards follow without a word. He heads to the healing quarters, awakening a haggard Madam Meridithel. Sill chastened by her last interaction with the King, she assures him she has not seen or heard from Elorean but will alert him immediately if the elleth is spotted. She stifles a smile as the dejected, anxious King turns from her.

His guard will not have allowed her into the forest at night, Thranduil reasons, pushing back the fear growing inside him. She will be here somewhere he thinks, heading for the stables. 

She is nowhere to be found among the animals, but Thranduil breathes a sigh of relief, finding her horse and his both secure in their stalls. As he exits, he finds Felix standing just outside and as much as he has bulked at the idea of this furred creature wandering his Halls, he has never been so grateful. The minute the fox moves, he knows where she has gone and he calls up his unsaddled horse to race across the fields to her.

Elorean’s sentry is standing at attention at the side of the cottage and smoke rises from the roof into the night air. “She is out back My Lord,” he says bowing his head. Thranduil dismounts and moves at a clip too quick for his guards to keep up. 

**  
Elorean is wearily lugging a second pail of water to the house. Sensing a presence she looks up. There is no mistaking his tall, shadowed form, his long silver tresses accented by the moonlight. She did not think he would come for her after his Queen sent her away and she is startled and caught off guard. 

She freezes for a second, not wanting to look into his sky lit eyes, or hear the voice that vibrates deep within her soul. She does not want to feel the heat of his touch. The heavy pail of water drops to the ground, soaking her feet and she runs. 

Thranduil breaks clean and straight from his stance before she even bolts, knowing she will. He boxes her in at the stream, running her down and overtaking her. Grabbing her arm he spins her around and she slams into him, the momentum of both of their speeds at impact, bringing them to their knees.

“You can run Elorean, but I will always catch you.” She is panting, her cheeks flushed and her deep pink lips are parted as she sucks in air. Warning lights flash across her deep blue eyes and Thranduil is enthralled. He bends and kisses her. She responds at first but then pushes him harshly from her, sending him to his heels. With an open hand, she smacks him across the face leaving a bright red mark on his pale cheek.

“No! No more!“ she yells, leaping to her feet, taking off again. Thranduil grabs her by her ankle, sending her sprawling to the ground. She turns and beats her fists on his chest. “I hate you, I hate you!” Thranduil waits patiently until she has exhausted herself, never easing up his grip on her.


	47. Chapter 47

“Elora, I am sorry, I did not want you to find out this way,” Thranduil says when Elorean stops struggling and stills, completely spent. 

“No, you just wanted to use me until your child is born!”

“Listen to me Elorean, that is not true. I love you.”

Elorean laughs roughly, her voice almost lost from screaming.

“It would seem your love is easy to come by My Lord.”

“I care not for her Elora, I had her only once and never again since.”

“You called for her. You sent me away and you called for her.”

“It was a mistake myri. I never intended for anything to happen. I missed you and I only needed a healer, not a Naditu. She just…. it just happened. It meant nothing to me and there should not have been any risk of pregnancy with her.”

“Then why request a Naditu and why keep it secret all this time while you take me to your bed whenever it suits you?”

“Myri, I kept it a secret because I needed more time with you, more time to show you how much I love you. After everything that happened I….I did not want to lose you before I had a chance to keep you.” 

Thranduil closes his eyes, bowing his head, his finely chiseled features awash in torment.

“It does not matter, she is to be the Mother of your child,” Elorean says standing and crossing her arms around herself.

“Yes, but I want you to stay Elorean. Illysia will be my child’s Mother but you will always command my heart. I will give you special standing in my Halls, I will make you happy Elora.”

“No! No!” she shouts, “I will not be the whore in the palace, the one your child hates for keeping you from his Mother! You would just end up hating me too!” Elorean turns away, walking back to the house. 

She does not believe a word he is saying. He does not love her, he never has. If she were to stay with him, he would soon grow tired of her and discard her. He has already done so once. 

Thranduil inhales deeply. He thinks about throwing her over his shoulder and locking her away in his rooms until he can convince her to stay. Perhaps if he gives her more time to consider. Yes, all she needs is more time, he convinces himself. She has just learned about Illysia and the baby today and who knows what that gold digger said to her. He will wait for her, he will give her the time and space she needs, for now at least.

“Elorean,” he calls out to her as she hurries away.

She turns, still hugging herself.

“Come to me anytime, for anything, anything at all. I will always be here for you,” he says in a heavily silken voice, distress written all across his moonlit face. 

Elorean holds her breath. He is so beautiful under the shadowy night sky. She turns quickly from him, hiding her tears. Every second she spends looking at him is dangerous for her. She has to get away. Moving swiftly to the house she prays she does not trip. She has become so clumsy lately and does not want to fall in front of him now. She has been humiliated enough for one day.

It is a fitful night with not much rest. By sunrise Elorean is frying pumpkin pulp and seeds in a pan atop her stove. She felt queasy pulling the slimy contents out of the pumpkin, but now that the kitchen is filling with the nutty smell of the squash, she feels almost desperate to eat. Once it is cooked, she takes just a small portion, eating it slowly. It seems that she often gets sick now, especially after breakfast and she is careful not to overdo it.

After eating, she begins pulling the dust cloths off the furniture and taking the rugs to the porch to air out. By noon she is napping, sudden exhaustion overtaking her. She dreams of Thranduil standing in the moonlight. He is holding his hand out to her saying “Come to me.” She wakes with such longing for him that it causes physical pain inside her chest and she sobs for an hour before rising to continue her work.

**  
Thranduil rides his elk through the forest having completed another morning of the animal’s training. He has kept busy, pushing himself hard to keep the thoughts of Elorean at bay. It has been a week since she left him standing on the bank of the stream running behind her home. The three rotating guards he now has assigned to her have had little to report.

Approaching the place on the wall where he climbed over with her the last time he worked with his elk, his heart sinks. He retreats inside himself, remembering that day with her, the way she laughed when he raced with his arm around her on the war beast. He can almost feel her body pressed against his, her lips eagerly kissing him in the woods.

“My Lord,” Thranduil turns to his guard, reluctantly breaking from the memory. The mounted sentry motions for the King to look up at the wall. Elorean is there, standing on the narrow stone ledge. Thranduil’s heart surges as his eyes fall upon her. His guard is there too and Thranduil can tell by the ruby glow in her cheeks, she is angry and giving the poor soldier a tongue lashing. Her hand is on the hilt of her sword. 

Thranduil dismounts and stealthily makes his way to the ground below her. He ascends the wall with ease and is standing between the pair before Elorean has a chance to see him coming.

Startled, she falls with an astonished gasp, but he sweeps her into his arms, her feet dangling in midair. He keeps her like this for a moment, knowing if he allows her to regain her footing she will push him away. He has wanted nothing more than to hold her all week, so much so it hurts. 

She stares up at him wide eyed as if she is seeing a ghost and Thranduil has to stop himself from sinking into the depths of her royal blue orbs. It is sheer willpower that keeps him from kissing her. 

“What seems to be the problem,” he asks, turning to the guard, allowing Elorean to stand on her own again, keeping a protective arm around her lest she topple over again.

“The Lady wishes to go into the forest to pick berries My Lord. I told her we would have to request an escort but it would seem she does not care to wait,” the servant says respectfully, bowing to the King. 

Thranduil nods, turning back to Elorean. Scooping her into him, he bounds down the wall with her. She takes in a startled gulp of air, clutching onto him tightly and he grins. Leading her to his elk, Thranduil holds out his hand. “My Lady.” 

Elorean shuffles her feet, looking like a scared rabbit.

“Where are we going?” she asks apprehensively.

“Berry Picking,” Thranduil answers with a dazzling smile. 

Not waiting for her to agree, he lifts her onto the back of the elk, mounting behind her. He feels her shudder when he wraps his arm around her waist. Thranduil knows every inch of his forest and he rides, his company in pursuit, to a thorned, lush area where abundant, wild berries grow. He dismounts, taking her down with him, motioning to his guard to stay back and wait for them.

Thranduil reaches for her arm and she flinches. He stops, stepping in front of her. Her eyes are unsure pools of streaming blue that dart around, searching for a place to run. “I am not going to hurt you Elorean, do not be afraid, “ he whispers tenderly, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. Giving her a reassuring smile, he cradles her arm in his. 

“You do not have to pick a fight with my guard if you want to see me. You can just ask,” he says smirking.

Elorean jerks her arm away harshly, glaring up at him, streaks of anger flash across her electric blue eyes. “I was not trying to see you, I am just hungry!” she blurts out, backing away from him. He can see her fighting back the tears.

Thranduil is shocked and he stops in his tracks. “Elora,” he whispers, stepping forward grabbing her arms in his hands before she can get away. He silently curses himself. He has provided for her safety and nothing further, leaving her alone and hungry. The thought of her being without food for a week pummels him. It is a harsh, punishing blow. 

She is so thin and pale. He notices now how very pale she actually is.

“Why did you not come to me?”

“I'm fine, I don't need anything from you.” Elorean hangs her head, ashamed. She was so angry that he thought she was manipulating his guard to see him, she lashed out, without thinking. Now once again she feels completely humiliated in front of him. 

Thranduil lets her go and walks back to his guards and Elorean sighs. Pulling her bag from her pocket, she begins filling it. She cannot help herself but to pop a few of the plump, juicy fruits into her mouth. If Thranduil were not there to mock her, she would stuff herself with them. 

She does not take too much, though she would like to take more to dry out for later. Now she just wants to get home, to get away. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, Elorean struggles to hold tight to the breaking dam threatening to send forth the hot tears welling behind her eyes.

Turning to take her walk of shame back to the King and his mighty elk, she glances up to see a blanket spread on the ground with a half dozen bowls of food arranged on one side. A servant holds an empty dish in his hands and he bends down, spooning large portions onto the plate. 

She is so hungry a tear escapes from her eye. After two days, she could no longer stomach the pumpkin, it tore her up inside and left her weak and drained. She has had little else to eat since then, a few bites of petrified biscuits she found in the cupboard and several apples she took from the feed bin at the stables when she went to visit Landinir’s horse. 

Her mouth waters and she gulps. Thranduil’s own shame at seeing her like this is far greater than Elorean’s. No one in his kingdom should ever endure near starvation under his rule, least of all, the elleth he loves. He will not forgive himself for neglecting to realize that since she was not returning to the healing quarters, she would have no access to food. 

Elorean wants to refuse but she can feel her body tingling in anticipation of being nurtured by the bountiful spread in front of her. Seeing her hesitation, Thranduil goes to her and walks her to the blanket, easing her down as the attendant hands her the heaping plate. He watches her eat, refilling her goblet when her first cup of wine has been drained. Elorean keeps her eyes lowered through the entire meal, feeling too self conscious to meet his eyes. 

“More?” he asks when she has finished. Elorean shakes her head no, putting her arm around her stomach. She dares to look up at him.

“Thank you My Lord.”

Thranduil reaches over, brushing the hair from her eyes, noting how sleepy she appears. 

“I am so sorry myri. I promise you will never be hungry again,” he says, his voice soft and pained. 

Helping her up, he leads her to his elk as the servant packages the remaining food. He takes her back to the wall, riding slowly, not wanting to let her go. Soon her back is resting on his chest and her head rolls to the side on his shoulder. Her eyes are closed and her limbs limp. He kisses her gently on the top of her head and whispers softly to her in her sleep, telling her how much he loves her and begging her to come back to him.

Too soon, they arrive at the spot on the wall where her sentry is waiting. It takes everything in him not to carry his sleeping beauty back to his palace and tuck her under the covers in his bed. With great despair, Thranduil pulls her from her peaceful slumber to send her back to her new home. 

“Open your eyes, myrialor, we are here,” he breathes into her ear, before touching his lips to hers. Her lashes flutter and she looks directly into his eyes as he lifts his lips from hers. For one split second, she is with him again, their separation forgotten, before a flash of realization crosses her eyes and she is gone from him. Grief seeps over him as he watches her will herself awake, sitting up and blinking. 

Thranduil dismounts with her, handing her up to the guard, not wanting to prolong the agony of letting her go. His servant follows her, carrying a satchel. Elorean turns once to look back at the King. He smiles and nods before she disappears on the other side of the wall. She is gone and a single tear falls down his cheek.


	48. Chapter 48

It is another night of tossing and turning for Elorean. She had drifted off unintentionally, easily, after eating so much, on Thranduil’s elk, with his arm tucked around her. Now, here in her bed alone, sleep is a struggle. At least there will be food in the morning, she thinks with relief. Thranduil sent his servant with a large bag of leftovers. She has enough to eat for the rest of the week. 

It is a different kind of hunger that keeps her restless tonight. She tries not to think about him, but her body still feels the imprint of his arm wrapped around her waist, the sound of his voice echoes in her ears. 

She can feel his lips on hers, when he woke her at the wall. Cringing, she remembers that split second of feeling she was waking in his room, in his bed, when he belonged to her and not to Illysia. Elorean shudders and pulls the blanket tighter around her. She starts counting sheep, trying to distract herself from thinking about him. The tears begin to flow, hot and heavy, despite her best efforts.

When morning comes, Elorean wonders if she has slept at all. Padding across the floor to let Felix outside, she opens the door and her jaw drops. Six elves are standing next to a full cart, just beyond her front doorstep.

Upon seeing her, they immediately begin unloading. Walking into her house, one by one, loads of supplies are brought into her dwelling. Elorean is speechless, each elf nods and greets her as they pass, “Good morning My Lady.” 

She sits in her Father's oversized chair in stunned silence, watching them. There is enough food to last her forever, she thinks. The elves unpack everything, stocking her cupboards. They have brought other goods as well, soap and linens, even a jug of wine.

As they finish, a brown eyed Silvan elf approaches her. He hands her a bag of coin. “You may use this for fresh fruits and vegetables at the market, My Lady, or for anything else you are in need of. The King has also arranged an account for you. You may have anything you desire, just tell them your name and he will take care of the charges.”

Elorean sits with her mouth agape, not knowing what to say. The elf bows, then leaves, the rest following him in a procession. She is torn between jumping up and down in giddy excitement over the prospect of having food, and wondering how she can accept such a gift, a gift from the King she loves with every fiber of her being, but who is beholden to another and on the precipice of beginning a new family. 

Taking a deep breath, she decides easily that she is not going to be prideful or stubborn. She needs to eat and if that is wrong, she does not care to be right. She is never going to recover from losing him if she is sick and hungry, fighting with his guard to forage for meager nourishment from the forest where danger is lurking in every corner. If she wants to survive, she has to eat. Elorean knows, she wants to survive.

**  
For three weeks, Elorean has stayed mostly at home, seldom venturing out. There has been much to do and in truth, she has not been quick about it. Much of her time has been spent mourning. Her losses have been great over the past several months. 

She is reminded constantly of Landinir and Luthaniel here, but she finds it comforting to be amongst their childhood things, in the place where they grew up together. She can feel herself healing through the daily rituals she has been doing to bring the desolate home they once loved back to life. 

The loss of her beloved, Thranduil, keeps her homebound, however. She does not want to run into him. Meeting him at the wall that day had set her back, she did not sleep for nights thinking about him. She misses him so, so much. It is an ache she is unable to resolve, or even begin to heal from yet. 

The pain is so searing she pushes against it hard, forcing it away. It always comes back and sooner or later she finds herself succumbing to it. Those are the times when it is hard for her to move at all. 

By the end of the third week, Elorean decides she must go to the market. She needs to buy some meat for Felix. She does not want him wandering too far into the forest, knowing the dangers that he might face if he is forced to hunt out there in the shadows. 

He has been wandering away for longer and longer periods of time and she is guessing he has depleted her field of mice. There are certainly rabbits about, but the fox just watches them from a distance with a hungry look in his eyes, never pursuing them. She imagines this is Radagast’s doing, but she is glad, she enjoys having the hopping creatures around nibbling at the clover.

The market is crowded and she feels dizzy as she walks down an aisle lined with tents of vendors. There is a buzz of excitement in the air. Brightly colored flags in barrels are for sale outside of every stand and musicians are entertaining the throngs of elves. 

Of course, the Harvest Festival, Elorean thinks, remembering fondly the celebration that brings so much fanfare and festivities to the Mirkwood elves. She has forgotten all about it. Preparations are obviously well underway and residents are already out and about in anticipation of tonight’s event. 

Passing a stand filled with candy and cocoa dusted chocolates, she stops. Her Father had always brought home a box of the truffles on the eve of the festival for a special treat. She can almost taste the bittersweet confections melting in her mouth. She forces herself to move on, determined to make the coin the King has given her last. She will not be going to him for more. 

She will be planting a garden and finding work. Many local families will pay her for healing minor ailments in their homes, especially those with children who do not want to make the trip to the medical pavilion every time their precious charges take a tumble out of a tree or are bitten when they innocently torment a snake. And the children love her, she can easily find employment as a nanny. Now that she is regaining her strength, she will be able to become self sufficient

“Wow, Landinir’s little sister, all grown up. Look at you Ellie.” 

Elorean turns to see a familiar face, one she has known since childhood. She has always found Jaques to be one of her brother’s most annoying friends. He was a braid puller, constantly trying to look up her skirt when she climbed a tree or attempting steal a kiss when he found her in a dark hiding spot during games of hide and seek. Landinir had once bloodied his nose when he caught Jaques harassing her.

Elorean nods and walks faster, head down, not wanting deal with Jaques right now. Her first outing is already making her feel overwhelmed. But as usual, the offending elf will not leave her alone. She is brought up short by the tip of his sword at her collar. 

“So what is Landinir’s little sister up to these days? Huh Ellie?”

A group of his friends make whopping sounds behind him. How mature, Elorean thinks, wondering if the King’s guard is going to step in. Instead of waiting, she draws her own sword. It cuts deftly through the air with a soft swoosh before connecting with the blade at her throat. She sends Jacques’s weapon clanking loudly to the ground.

“I think you dropped something Jaquie,” Elorean says without ever making eye contact. She grins when his group of friends start roasting him for being disarmed by an elleth.

“Ellie! Ellie!” a wee little elleth, not more than eight, comes running up to her.

“Hello Lily,” Elorean says with a smile. 

“My kite is stuck in that tree!” the little elfling says dramatically, pointing up to the sky.

“Can you get it for me? Please?” Lily asks imploringly. 

“Sure,” Elorean says, reaching the second branch on her first leap. Elorean scales the height gracefully with ease. She has been climbing walls and trees since she was no bigger than the little elleth beneath her, always exploring and taking risks, much to her parent’s consternation.

Retrieving the kite, she sends it sailing down to the little one eagerly waiting below. “Thank you Ellie!” she says enthusiastically, with a toothy smile, before running off to the field to try flying her kite again with her friends.

Elorean looks down to see Christoff at the base of the tree, staring up at her. His hand blocks the sun from his deep blue eyes, as if he is saluting. His midnight black hair is glossy and it shines in the sunlight. Elorean jumps down a few branches before doing a triple flip, landing on her feet directly in front of him. 

“Hello Ella,” he says with a brilliant smile, kissing her on the cheek and taking her in his arms for a very close, long hug. She smiles brightly back at him and embraces him warmly.

“Christoff, how are you?”

“I am well….Well surviving anyway. How are you doing?” he asks, raising a hand to her cheek.

“I am fine,” Elorean says giving her signature answer.

“Are you going to the festival tonight?” he asks hopefully.

“You know I don't like dresses, I do not even think I own one now,” she says with a grin.

“Come Ella, I do not care what you wear,” Christoff says reverently.

“Well, perhaps. We shall see,” Elorean says, ending the conversation without committing herself. 

“I will look for you,” Christoff says kissing her cheek again and squeezing her hand. He keeps her hand in his as they walk away from each other until the distance between them causes them to drop back to their sides. 

**  
Thranduil is making a mandatory appearance at the market on the day of the festival. His face is stern and cold and he keeps his distance from the throngs of elves traversing through the vendors. He is in no mood for the celebration tonight. 

It has been weeks since he has been with Elorean. He has watched her from afar several times, working outside her house, playing with her fox, even swimming in the stream beyond her field. He has kept his distance, waiting for her. She has not yet come to him.

Illysia has been a constant thorn in his side. She seems to have grown overnight, walking around his Halls showing off her extended abdomen. She has been insisting on a coronation tonight at the festival to the point where he had to threaten her harshly. He will deal with what has to be done, when the baby arrives, and not a moment before.

His staff is quiet and serious, sensing his mood. They have been careful to avoid him whenever it is feasible and they make themselves as invisible as possible when they are by his side. He is short and ill-tempered, having no patience for anyone, especially those spreading rumors about a new Queen. Several of the palace servants have already been dismissed for their wagging tongues. The remainder walk on eggshells, silent and obedient. 

Looking out over the marketplace filled with jovial elves, Thranduil's eyes hone in like a hawk. Elorean is there, in front of him. He is closer to her now than he has been for weeks. She is breathtakingly lovely in the glint of the late morning sun. She has gained weight and her thin, long frame now has livacious curves, her breasts stretching the material of her tunic. 

He dismounts and his servant follow as he moves with stealth to be closer to her, still remaining on the outskirts so as not to be mobbed by his subjects, instructing his guards to keep them away. He watches her face closely as she stops at the sweet shop, following her eyes to the round, brown, powdered truffles. 

He hopes she will eat one now, he wants to watch her, but he is disappointed when she walks away. She can buy anything she wants and she clearly wants the truffles. Why does she not purchase them?

Thranduil instructs a servant to secure a box of the chocolates in gift wrap. Elorean heads to the butchers table and buys a large bag of meat scraps. He knows this is for her fox, she never touches the meat that is served to her. 

He is frustrated when it becomes clear she is heading for the exit, but he still trails her. As she passes the gathering area, she is greeted by a strapping, rather young elf. Thranduil does not like the way he leers at her and less so the way he speaks to her. 

Elorean all but ignores his comments, but the bold elf has the audacity to stop her with his blade. Thranduil sees the guard he has assigned to her start to step in, but he is already drawing his own blade, ready to slice the young bucks hand off along with the sword he has at Elorean’s throat. 

She has the emboldened elf disarmed before either of them can move and makes a quip that causes all of the offending elf’s friends to laugh at him. Thranduil relaxes and shakes his head with a grin, feeling rather proud of her. 

He watches in wonderment as a small elfling approaches Elorean, without hesitation, to ask for help with her kite. The interaction between the two makes Thranduil long for Elorean to be at his side, for her to be his Queen, for her to be the Mother of his child. She is everything he wants, everything he desires as she ascends the tree, freeing the tangled kite and sending it to the smiling, wee elleth below who thanks her and calls her Ellie.

His mood darkens as he watches her skillfully flip down to her feet in front of a tall Silvan elf. She is happy to see him, Thranduil can tell by her smile and the way she lets him kiss and hug her. He calls her Ella. Thranduil’ s fists clench at his sides. 

He seethes as the elf tries to talk Elorean into coming to the festival. He too has been hoping she will be there. He needs her in his company again, it has been long enough, he has given her space, it is time for her to return to him. These weeks without her have been nothing short of torture. 

If this elf thinks he will be escorting Elorean to the festival, he is in for a rude awakening. Thranduil spins on his heels, his cape twirling behind him as he heads for the palace to finish the final preparations for the Harvest Festival.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed all of the tags before choosing to read......

In all of her years attending the Harvest Festival, Elorean has only seen the King from afar. He is the master of ceremonies and presides over all of the important events of the evening. At times, he mingles among the crowds, but his company is sought by everyone and he is hard to come by. There is not much risk of running into him if she decides to attend. 

It is a beautiful celebration, filled with starlight and excitement. A part of her longs to go. Christoff loved her brother, she will be comfortable attending the event at his side. The isolation here in her home, that was at first a blessing, is now starting to wear on her and Elorean is craving a reprieve from her solitude.

She rummages through her own closet finding nothing appropriate to wear. It takes a while before she wills herself into her parent’s room and reverently begins shifting though he Mother’s gowns. Her hands settle on a cream colored dress, adorned in tiny, carved, wooden beads about the bodice. Elorean remembers the night her Mother wore this to the Harvest Festival and how lovely she was in it at her Father’s side.

She pauses, closing her eyes for a moment before unfastening the gown from its hanger. Pulling it over her head, she steps in front of the full length mirror on the closet door. It is a little tight in the bust and Elorean frowns in consternation, thinking she must stop eating so much. Her figure has never been this full before.

The gown is pretty though, and it makes Elorean feel close to her Mother, something she needs so much right now. “It is decided then,” she says to Felix. “I will go to the festival tonight with Christoff and this is what I shall wear.” 

She indulges in two of the chocolate covered truffles that were delivered to her today, mysteriously without a card, but she guesses they are from Christoff. He would remember they are a part of her family’s Harvest Festival tradition. Frowning down at her tummy, she puts the box out of sight thinking she really must stop eating so much, lest she burst out of the seams of all of her clothing. 

Arriving early, she is happy to find Christoff already there and looking for her. It is a splendid evening of dance and song. Elorean is reunited with many old friends that she has not seen for years, since she left home for the healing quarters. It feels good to her to not be so alone. She has been so lonely without him.

She catches a glimpse of the King once. He is wearing layers of gilded gold and deep maroon, against which his silver hair shines like the light of the stars. His long robe pools at his feet and it is as if he is floating when he walks, he moves with such grace and poise. 

He is followed by a procession of giggling elleths, more so than usual with the absence of Legolas. Elorean cannot blame them, she follows him too, with her eyes, wishing she was close to him, as they are now. It is hard for her not to watch him, but when he glances in her direction, she quickly looks away.

“You are positively radiant tonight,” Christoff says, kissing her on the cheek and taking her arm. “Let’s dance Ella!” They join a crowd of dancing elves, laughing, spinning and singing along with the performers. Elorean is breathless and having so much fun. As the evening grows late, Christoff excuses himself for a moment and Elorean is suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea. She moves away from the throngs of party goers to get some air and have a moment alone to rest. 

**  
Thranduil spots her almost immediately when she enters the festival grounds. Her flowing, winter white gown clings to her curves and her breasts strain against the tight bodice of her bead studded dress. She is immeasurably lovely and has an aura around her. She is glowing. His breath catches in his throat and he finds himself nodding at the chattering elleth beside him, not hearing a word she says. He has insisted Illysia stay behind, hoping Elorean will come to him.

His eyes follow her as she enthusiastically greets the dark haired elf he saw her with in the market earlier in the day. They are holding hands and exchanging smiles. A fury begins to churn inside Thranduil’s gut. He wants her by his side tonight, he has dreamed she would seek him out. 

She laughs and plays with her muse, singing and dancing. She is glorious, abandoned and happy, like a newfound bride. Her chaperone is generous with her drinks, offering her cup after cup and he plays some amateur carnival game, winning her a stuffed rabbit. She kisses the dark haired elf on the cheek as if he has just conquered an army of Orc’s or given her a precious jewel, for the cheap prize he lays in her hands.

Later, when Elorean and her new paramour part from each other, presumably so he can refill her cup again, Thranduil sees Elorean slink away, alone, to a secluded spot. He follows her.

**  
“You look well Elorean,” Thranduil says, appearing before her, his tone dark as he leers, his eyes traveling up and down her body.

“My Lord,” Elorean says startled, giving him a curtsey. She has been leaning up against a wall, far away from the festivities, feeling suddenly very weary. 

“Why do you linger here in the shadows?”

“I just needed some air and a bit of quiet My Lord.” Elorean is cursing silently. She has been careful to avoid all the places the King is on this night. How is it that he came upon her in this hidden area?

“Has too much wine befuddled your memory Elora? Have you forgotten my name?” 

His voice is low, carefully controlled and smooth as silk. He is the only one who has ever called her Elora and the way he says it makes her feel hot as if she is standing in the sun rather than the dim moonlight.

“No, My Lord.” 

“Say it. Say my name Elorean.” His tone has become edgy and menacing. Elorean swallows hard.

“Thranduil,” she murmurs.

“And what will you call him tonight when you lie between his sheets?” he asks grabbing her hard by the back of her neck. Elorean winces in pain but a flash of anger crosses her eyes. The stuffed rabbit Christoff has won for her slips from her hand.

“What is it to you My Lord?” she challenges.

“How soon you forget Elorean. You are mine,” he says angrily, backing her up against the wall.

Elorean laughs stiffly, sounding far braver than she feels. “You have your Queen and a babe on the way, Illysia belongs to you now, not me. I will not be your whore.”

“You will not be my whore, but you will be his?” Thranduil growls, enraged that she has demeaned what he feels for her in such a way. 

He grabs a fist of her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to look at him. His eyes blaze with jealous rage and he brings his face close to hers, so close she can feel his breath on her mouth.

“You belong to me Elorean, you knew that when I took you. Do I not provide for you?”

“I asked you for nothing!” she spits.

“But you took it Elora, and good thing, for you might have starved,” he taunts, pushing his body up against hers.

“If not for your guard keeping me, I would have provided for myself! I am not to be bought!” 

His closeness makes her feel heady and her skin tingles as he raises a hand to her breast, pinching her nipple through the thin fabric of her gown and she whimpers.

His mouth descends upon hers. There is no tenderness, just raw sensuality and expert skill that demands a response. Her body betrays her and her hips involuntarily rise to meet him.

“See myri, it is not so hard for you to be my whore is it?” he says with a sadistic grin.

He breaks abruptly from her and she is left quivering, taking short uneven breaths, supporting herself against the wall. 

Turning away without care for her, Thranduil orders his servants to take her to the palace as he leaves to fulfill his requirements at the festival. 

Elorean is led to his room. Two guards remain with her and she curls up in the King’s sitting chair, tucking her feet under her and wrapping her arms around herself. She hears Bastian in the hallway, but the sentry’s refuse him entry. She is not to see anyone by the King’s order.

One hour passes, then two and Elorean drifts off in Thranduil’s oversized chair.

**

She is furled up in a ball and looks small and diminished in his large seat when he arrives. Her eyes are closed, delicate lashes shadowing the blue tinged skin beneath her eyes. She is clutching the stuffed rabbit, the gift from her suitor, but the ring he has given her is not on her hand and Thranduil fumes. 

The memory of watching her walk through the festival with the dark elf’s arm around her, glowing like a young elleth after her first kiss infuriates him. He reaches in, grabbing her arm and yanks her to her feet. She cries out, still half asleep and he does not break her fall when she crumples to the ground.

“Get up Elorean.”

Blinking, Elorean struggles to raise herself, tripping on the hem of her rumpled gown. Seizing her hair now loosed and falling from its clip, he drags her to her feet in front of him and buries her mouth in his. 

She struggles, kicking and clawing at him until he releases her and she is panting for air. His hands go to the dipping neckline of her Mother’s gown. Clenching the gauzy fabric in his fists, he rips it apart down to her waist. Tiny beads ping to the floor. 

He glares down at her exposed, swelling breasts hungrily before wrenching the dress past her hips, sending it falling to her ankles. Elorean moves to cover herself.

“You know better than that Elora,” he warns in a thick voice, wresting her arms to her sides.

The second his hold loosens, she breaks and bolts for the door. He has her before she even gets close to the exit, twirling her around and pinning her to him, chuckling.

“I have half a mind to let you go running though my Halls naked while I chase you just for the sport of it,” he says with a smirk.

She reaches up to hit him, but he catches her hand before it makes contact. Spinning her sideways, he gives her a hard spank. Elorean bites her bottom lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying out. 

“Be a good girl Elorean.”

“I hate you!” she screams at him.

“So you have told me myrialor. You can have it your way, but you are still mine.”

He covers her mouth with his possessing it entirely, expertly teasing her with his tongue. As he pulls her body into his, he reaches up, cupping her breast, fingers flicker over her and she moans. His lips work down her neck and throat. He plumps her breast in his hand before licking and sucking her stiffening nipple and her body convulses uncontrollably. .

Lifting her, he carries her to the bed and restrains her under his hard, muscular frame. Her back presses down into the soft mattress beneath him as his fingers strum lightly over her waist and hip. She arches up to him and an anguished sigh escapes her. 

He splays her legs with his thighs, and then parts them further with the palms of his hands. His fingers slip into her silken velvet lips, separating them. “Ahh, myri. You say you hate me, but your body tells me something different. Did he make you this wet or is this for me?”

“I didn't do anything with him,” she cries.

“Good thing for him,” Thranduil snarls.

“We're not, he’s not….” 

Elorean gasps as he runs his fingers over her throbbing cleft, massaging and circling, sending darts of pleasure coursing through her. 

His mouth takes hers again and she cries out when he fills her in one quick thrust. He reaches beneath her, grabbing her buttocks and pulling her to him. He moves agonizingly slow inside her, rotating his hips, pushing hard on her soft mound until she is clutching at his shoulders and pivoting to him.

“I missed you,” she whispers and Thranduil stops, knowing she is about to come.

He swiftly turns her over, lifting her hips. He reaches around her, stroking and crossing her pulsating cleft with his fingers until she flexes and gasps.

“Then why were you with him when I have been waiting for you,” he thunders, before ramming himself into her. 

With no preparation, she tears at his entry while he masters her quivering nub. Her scream is so pitiful, he is almost given to pause. It is too late though. The pent up forces that have been building inside him have already converged and in one more harsh thrust, he erupts with a triumphant shout, as he vents his seething liquid inside her. 

Grabbing a purse from his drawer, he takes a handful of gold coins and throws them over her naked body. He can see her quaking with sobs but she barely makes a sound. He turns away as he dresses, not wanting to watch her cry. 

His head throbs slightly from all of the wine he drank at the festival and he heads for the kitchens. He ate nothing during the celebration having lost his appetite after seeing Elorean with her dark haired admirer. The kitchen staff is surprised to see him, but with most of his attendants still at the festival, he has ventured into their area on his own accord.

They quickly set him a place and serve him a full meal, filling his goblet with water after he declines the wine. As his head clears, he cringes inside. She said she missed him. The thought of this elates him now, but when she said it, it had just fueled his anger and he treated her too roughly. It is still hard to tamper the searing jealousy inside him at seeing her with another, but he softens slightly.

Pushing back from the table, he tosses his napkin from his lap and leaves the kitchen’s just as the servant is bringing him a slice of frosted cake. 

“Dessert, My Lord?”

Thranduil does not answer, he just lifts a hand with his back at the door, silencing the attendant. In the distance he hears chattering and as he turns the corner, a group of tipsy elves are laughing and conversing in the corridor . “My Lord,” Aleial says bowing, Christoff was looking for Elorean, did she leave with you?” 

Thranduil’s brows furrow “She is with me, but that should be no concern of his,” he says, his voice a warning rumble.

Having indulged in a bit too much wine, Aleial giggles. “No need to be jealous My Lord, Christoff might try to seduce you, but not Ellie. He was pledged to Landinir, did she not tell you?”

Thranduil stops, frozen, staring at Aleial. “My Lord, are you wounded?” she asks concerned, looking at his hands.

He follows her eyes and sees the dried blood on his fingers and caked beneath his nails.

“No,” he answers distractedly, turning on his heel from the group and racing to his room. 

He storms through his door to go to her, finding the bed empty. Panicked, he looks back into the hall. Her guard is gone, the sentry must have followed her, he thinks with relief. 

Retrieving his cape, his eyes catch on a few streaks of blood painted on the sheet amongst the scattered gold coins. He throws the covers back, grateful to find no more. Feeling something under his boot, he reaches down, picking up a broken chain. The ring he had given her dangles in front of him. He leaves his Halls, two guards following on his heels as they head to the stables.

She has gone home, I will find her there, he tells himself, while the groom retrieves the tack for his horse. Declining to wait for the saddle, he mounts with only the reins and orders his guards to do the same as he charges across the fields to her cottage.

He is filled with dread as he approaches and does not see her guard at his usual post on her porch, but feels a reprieve when he sees the sentry coming up from behind the house waving his arms. Thranduil gallops to the guard who points to the creek. “She is in the water, My Lord, I was about to make her get out.” 

Thranduil nods riding down the slope to her.

She is sitting in the shallows, her legs drawn up with her arms wrapped around them and her forehead rests on her knees. One of his large shirts loosely covers her and what remains of her gown is wrapped around her waist and tied in a knot. 

Thranduil leaps off his mount and rushes to her. The water is cold as it seeps through his boots. “Elora......Elora,” he croaks, bending down to her. She startles violently at his touch but does not look up. He lifts her face in his hands, her lips are blue and she is shivering uncontrollably. 

Pulling her from the water he holds her to him, wrapping her in his cape. He barks orders to his guard return to his Halls and call upon a healer to meet them at the palace as he wades out of the stream cradling her in his arms. He instructs her guard to find towels and blankets as he carries her inside.

He gently sets her on her pink bed, crooning softly as he begins unbuttoning her shirt. Her fingers are numb from the cold as she raises her hands to stop him “No, please no,” she cries.

“Shhhh, it is okay myri, I am just going to get you warm and dry,” he whispers.

“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you Elora?”

“I'm fine,” she hiccups, but her body is twitching. His hands tremor as they undress her. He knows she is not fine. 

As he pulls the knot from her soaked gown she grabs onto it. ”It’s my Mom’s, please don't throw it away,” she begs. 

“I will take care of it myri, it is okay,” he says tenderly, feeling a crushing sensation in his chest, knowing he has already shredded the dress that means something to her. 

The servant comes in with several towels and blankets, placing them on the edge of the bed before going outside to wait with the horses. Thranduil peels the oversized, damp shirt from her and he takes in a sharp breath. 

He had seen her breasts in his room, shapely and full, but he thought it was simply because she has been filling out from his food provisions. Looking at her naked frame now, he can see her belly is swollen too.

“Elorean, why did you not tell me?” he chokes.

“I tried to tell you. He was Landinir’s not mine. I wasn't with him like that,“ she sobs, misunderstanding what he is asking. 

“I know, I know myri. It is okay,” he soothes.

Thranduil dries her with one of the towels on the side of the bed. “Elorean, when did you have your courses last?” he says placing a hand over her stomach. 

“I didn't, I wasn't with him. I haven’t been with anyone but you,” she cries, still not understanding. 

“Do not cry Elora, everything is going to be okay now, I promise everything will be okay,” he says, rocking her until she quiets, realizing she does not know.

He pulls the night shift from under her pillow and slips it over her head, helping her ease her arms through. Standing her from the bed, he grabs a blanket to wrap around her. He sees a spot of blood on her pink coverlet where she was sitting. 

Enveloping her in his embrace, he closes his eyes tightly. “Elora, where are you hurt? Tell me where I hurt you.”

“Back there,” she says sobbing.

“I am sorry myri, I am so sorry. I love you, I will make this right," he says kissing her tears, still worried he has caused injury to her pregnancy. Cloaking her in the blanket, he lifts her and carries her to his horse, racing her back to the palace as fast as he can without jarring her during the ride.


	50. Chapter 50

Thranduil paces in the hall as the healer is in his room with Elorean. He wanted to be with her, but the healer convinced him it would be best for him to wait outside. He does not see the snooping eyes peering around the corner.

**  
Illysia hears Thranduil’s guard coming in, giving orders for a healer to be sent. At first, she believes the King to be injured. This could work to her advantage if he dies, she and her unborn child would hold all claim to the throne as long as Legolas stays gone. Even if the Prince returns, he can easily be done away with. 

But as she awaits Thranduil’s arrival, she is greeted by the sight of him, alive and well, carrying Elorean into the palace. He is hugging her in arms, kissing her forehead, whispering of his love for her. So focused he is on the elleth in his hold, he sees nothing and no one else around him. 

When the healer tells the King he must stay outside the room while he works on her, Thranduil refuses. It takes the healer several minutes to convince him to let her go for just a short while to allow him to do his work. “My Lord, you know you can trust her to me. It is best for her this way.” 

Illysia is not familiar with this healer, who reaches up and grasps the King’s shoulders, halting him before taking the trembling elleth into Thranduil's chambers, closing the door behind him. 

She had thought the King’s obsession with Elorean was over, she has been absent from the King’s Hall’s for some time. Thranduil belongs to her now. Although he has not come to her bed, he has arranged for her every comfort. Illysia can have whatever she desires with the snap of her fingers. The King cares for her. He even declined to allow her to go to the Harvest Festival, despite her begging. Certainly this is because he is taking care with her delicate condition. 

She has surmised the king is keeping his distance because of her pregnancy and this is an act she is most grateful for now, as that all that exists of her pregnancy is a pillow carefully tucked into her undergarments. If the King were to try to bed her, she would have to refuse him, else her deception be discovered.

Goodness knows she is raw and used too much to have him properly anyway, after all of the elves she has seduced over the past weeks. She has even given up on finding one that looks like the King, any blond elf will do. When her courses came last week, she locked herself in her rooms for two days before going to visit Madam Gwinithiel. 

She had been despondent and was certain any chance she had of being Thranduil’s Queen was lost, but Madam Gwinithiel assured her there were other options. There are always elleths who find themselves bearing the fruits of ill-gotten trysts with someone they do not wish to be pledged to, or parents who disapprove of their daughter’s choices and are happy to see a baby disappear into the night. It will not be hard, Madam Gwinithiel assures her, to find an elleth more than grateful to part with a wailing infant about the time she would be due to deliver.

This has given her a renewed sense of purpose and has lifted her spirits greatly. She is already reaping the many of the benefits of being Thranduil’s Queen. She is waited on hand and foot. She has dressmakers who give her tortured looks when she insists their dirty mitts are not fit to touch the belly of the place the new heir to the throne resides. They have done a fair job of guessing. She has been rewarded with luxurious gowns of the finest silks that will make her King proud to show her off soon.

She is plump and has been making sure to eat heartily in order to appear every bit the pregnant, pampered Queen. The food is exquisite and she has indulged in many “cravings,” ordering specialized treats that rouse the King’s chefs in the middle of the night when she cannot sleep. 

All has been well, but now, Elorean is back, rising from the ashes like a phoenix, threatening to ruin everything. Illysia is grateful for the elleth’s bedraggled appearance. She does not look quite as thin as usual, but her face is pale and taut. It appears she is in rags, her bare feet hanging from an old quilt, damp hair clinging to her face, as the Kings drags her in like a wet rat. 

Illysia lets out a “humph,” upon seeing her wrapped in the King’s embrace, but is relieved he is too distracted to notice. She considers going to him when he paces back and forth outside his room, his hands coming up to rub his eyes, but he is obviously distraught and Illysia knows how moody he can be. She does not want to arouse his wrath. 

That sneaky servant of his, Bastian, has cleared everyone from the Halls. He is a little too good at protecting the King and his personal business. It takes a great deal of effort for Illysia to find out anything. Bastian watches her too, like a hawk. She has to be very careful. It is difficult for her to even take care of her personal grooming and she has, on occasion, been forced to go without bathing for days knowing he is lurking around and would be more than happy to reveal her secret if he if can catch her. She is working hard to put on the pounds, just so she can pass as pregnant if Bastian does try to expose her. 

When the healer comes from his room, Thranduil stops his pacing and stands rigid and still, his red rimmed eyes alert and imploring. Illysia strains to hear. “The baby is fine, but…,” 

Illysia hears nothing else. The baby? NO! NO! This cannot be happening! She covers her mouth with her hand and runs from her place in the shadows. Elorean is carrying the King’s child and she is carrying nothing more than a pillow. 

She falls to the floor in her room, wracked in sobs, yanking the pillow from beneath her skirts and tossing it violently across the room with a shriek. She cries for an hour, without pause. She has nothing, no one. Every dream, every hope she has ever had has now been ripped from her without warning, in a single moment. 

It is not fair! Life has not been fair to her! She decides in this moment, that in the morning, she will fling herself from the gate and let the rippling waters drag her down and under. Thranduil can have his beloved Elorean and her baby and she will just be no more. 

Soon, another thought creeps into her mind. Why should she be the only one to suffer? She has been good to the King. Why should he be allowed to carry on in happiness as if she never existed? 

She may die, yes, but she will take what he loves from him with her when she goes. He may not mourn for her, but mourn he will. He will know every pain he has caused her before she departs from this world. 

She smiles at the thought of watching his face when he learns his beloved Elorean and the child she carries are gone from him forever. She will be his Queen in pain and they will be joined together in agony before she departs from this world. 

**  
Thranduil has to steady himself against the wall when his healer comes out of the room. His words are a blur. The baby is okay, healthy and strong. Elorean is okay too, but injured. Medicinal soaks and creams, nothing other than traditional sex for the remainder of her term, she is past he first trimester. His knees feel weak but he stays strong so that he can go to her.

It is Bastian who stops him. “She is past her first trimester, My Lord,” he says. Thranduil nods, not hearing what his servant is saying at first, but then the knowledge gradually seeps in. Elorean conceived on their first night together, before he was ever with Illysia.


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry so short, I have a puking wee one of my own tonight who needs me.

She is sitting in the bed, propped up on pillows when Thranduil enters.

“Elora,” he says, coming to sit at her side, but she shies away from him. 

“Please Elora. Please let me hold you,” he says pulling her to him. He takes a long ragged breath, and then his strong, broad shoulders begin to quake. 

Elorean’s arms instinctively wrap around his neck, sensing his pain.

“I am sorry myri. I am sorry I hurt you,” he cries, clinging to her tightly. “I love you. I have been waiting for you to come back to me and seeing you with him, it made me mad with jealousy.” 

“I’m okay,” she says softly, and he winces. It is he who should be comforting her now, but instead, she is trying to comfort him. Thranduil takes her face in his hands, tears streaming over the angular ridges of his cheekbones.. 

“Elorean, I know your Mother left when you were very, very young and you still are young, much younger than me,” he says, holding her deep sapphire eyes with his. He places his hand over her belly.

“Elora you are pregnant,” he says gently, watching her eyes grow wide in confusion before looking away.

“I am sorry my love. This is my fault, it was my responsibility, I should have known. I never would have…..,” his voice trails off as he wraps her in his arms again.

“I will take care of you, everything will be okay. Please forgive me Elorean, please forgive me.” 

Pulling back from her, Thranduil gently traces her cheek with the tip of his fingers before tilting her chin up to meet her eyes again. 

“I missed you,” she breathes, as her tears begin to flow. He locks her in his arms again before taking the back of her head in his hand and laying her down gently. 

“I missed you too myri, I missed you so, so much,” he says kissing her forehead. 

“I’m scared.”

“Do not be afraid Elorean, I will not let you go again. You are safe here, you and the baby. I love you both, you will have everything you need.”

The hour is late and they both are taken by exhaustion, falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms. 

Bastian stands in the hallway smiling, having suspected for some time the King’s young elleth was with child. Now the only thing standing in the way of the King’s happiness is Illysia, he thinks. He waits until he hears the rhythmic breathing of both the King and the Queen, being certain they are each asleep and will not be in need of him. 

Nodding to the guards, he leaves to attend to other matters. No doubt this will be a sleepless night for Illysia and all of the servants. She will be demanding some rare delicacy in the wee hours of the morning, he saw her spying in the darkness.

**

Thranduil awakes to find Elorean absent from his bed and he sits up with a start. But she is there, standing by the table, looking down, with both of her hands on her belly. Thranduil lifts himself quietly from the bed. Walking up behind her, he wraps her in his arms and places hands over hers on her stomach.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly, kissing her neck.

“I’m hungry.”

“What do you want for breakfast?”

“Chocolate truffles.” Thranduil chuckles, turning her around and running his thumb over her bottom lip.

“If it is a boy, I want to name him Landinir after my brother,” she says, sounding very firm and serious

Thranduil smiles and nods, “Okay.”

Bastian arrives with the, morning food cart, eggs, fruit and almond milk. The servant places a special pillow on Elorean’s chair before seating her, raising an eyebrow at the King.

Elorean flinches as she sits and Thranduil takes a deep breath, scrubbing his face in his hands, feeling ashamed.

She eats hungrily, popping berry after berry into her mouth. Playing with the eggs on her fork, she places a small bite on her tongue, but suddenly goes pale.

“Elora?”

Clasping her hand over her mouth she starts to run. Bastian is there with an ice bucket and Thranduil catches her and holds her hair back as she falls to her knees and loses her breakfast.

“I’m sorry,” she gags, trying to push him away.

“Do not be sorry myri,” he says, bringing a napkin to her mouth.

Elorean groans. The immaculate King in gilded robes, being trailed by a myriad of beautiful elleths the night before, is now holding her while she wretches and she has never felt so unattractive and repulsive in her life. 

"I don't want you to see me like this," Elorean pleads. "Go!"

"I am not going anywhere. It is okay myri. I love you and I am going to take care of you,” he whispers in her ear. When she has finished, he lifts her and kisses the top of her head, before taking her to the pools.


	52. Chapter 52

True to his word, Thranduil takes care of Elorean, pulling the nightshift over her head and easing her into the bath as Bastian comes in with a mint drink to soothe her stomach. 

Gently pulling her head back, he pours warm water over her hair and lathers it, winding his long fingers through her golden strands. 

His thumbs come down on the back of her neck, gently kneading and stroking. Gripping her shoulders, he caresses her skin lightly, rubbing her, before gradually increasing the pressure of his fingers against her tense muscles. 

Elorean takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

“Is this okay myri?”

“Mmmmm, yes.” 

Thranduil stares down at her chest wondering how he could not have realized she was pregnant when her breasts have been so swollen and have seemed to grow as she became thinner. He curses himself, vowing to spoil and fatten her for the rest of her pregnancy. 

“Elorean,” he whispers huskily in her ear

“Hmmm.”

“You are beautiful like this, so beautiful,” he says running the back of his fingers over her breasts, hesitating at her stiffening peaks before placing his hands over her belly. 

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.”

“Let me he help you,” he says as she lifts herself up from the water. 

Taking the sponge he washes her, trailing down her back, glossing the suds over her bottom and down her thighs and calves before turning her around. He sponges her neck and throat, gently tracing over each breast and down her arms. Kneeling in front her, he drags the sponge over her distended belly, placing a kiss there, and slips his soapy fingers between her legs, washing her everywhere. Lifting each ankle he washes her feet before dipping her back into the water, rinsing off the lightly floral scented suds. 

“I do not want you to be ashamed of your body in front of me Elora,” he says reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You are so lovely. You do not ever need to hide from me.”

She takes a deep breath, glancing down at herself. “I look different,” she says with a grimace.

“Your curves are exquisite my darling, I have never seen anything so alluring,” he says, drawing her to him and kissing her gently.”

“”Thank you My Lord, I…I mean Thranduil…or Ada….” the corners of his lips turn upward in a grin as he wraps her in a velour robe. 

Returning to his chambers, Elorean reaches for her clothing, but Thranduil takes her arm, “No, not yet myri,” he says gently, laying her down on the bed and retrieving the medicinal kit left by the healer the night before.

Thranduil stands over her and kisses her forehead, but he sees her take in a short, sharp breath.

He pulls a satin sash from his robe on the chair. “Here,” he says, lifting the back of her head, blindfolding her. It is best if she does not see the instrument containing the medication, he does not want to frighten her. 

“It is okay myri, I will not hurt you,” he says, running his finger across her bottom lip. He places his hands on her ankles and brings her knees up, parting her legs gently. He lets out a soft hiss as examines her red, inflamed opening. Taking the slender, hollow tube, he pushes out a few drops of the ointment so he can slip it into her more easily. 

“Relax little one,” he says caressing her knee, seeing the goosebumps alight across the skin of her thighs. He very gently places the tip at the center of her tiny, inured ring and eases it in. 

“I am sorry, almost done angel,” he soothes when she flinches, and he pushes the plunger, forcing the ointment inside her. He slides it out easily, and returns everything to the kit, putting it out of sight before he lifts her up and removes the sash.

“Okay honey?” 

Elorean nods and he kisses her deeply and smiles. “I am going to go clean up, do you need help getting dressed?”

“No, I can do it.”

Thranduil kisses her on the forehead and leaves. Elorean turns to retrieve the clothing Bastian has laid out for her. He has thought to have her favorite outfit, leggings and tunic, reproduced, with stretchy material that fits comfortably around her expanding waistline and does not strain against her burgeoning breasts.

“Thank you Bastian,” she says gesturing to her clothing when the servant comes in. He bows in acknowledgement.

“We are so glad to have you back My Lady,” he says. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he looks down the hallway before whispering, “The King has been a bear without you.” Bastian winks and Elorean grins back at him.

A moment later Thranduil returns, dressed casually, and Bastian resumes his professional stance.

“Would My Lady like to try a second breakfast?”

“No, I'm fine,” Elorean responds.

“Yes, do bring her something,” the King says, overriding her and Bastian bows and leaves the room.

Thranduil goes to Elorean, pushing a damp lock of hair out of her eyes.

“I need to go back to the house and close things up.”

“I have already seen to that Elora.”

He leans into her, brushing his lips over hers, “I will take care of everything myri, including you.”

Elorean breathes in deeply and stands on her toes, her mouth pressing into his. He wraps his hands around her lower back, deepening their kiss. He runs his tongue over her mouth, coaxing, until she opens for him and Thranduil groans.

“My Lord! My Lord!” A frantic young guard barges in, stopping abruptly at the sight of the King in a passionate embrace with an elleth. 

He turns around, placing his hands at his back to wait for the King to acknowledge him. Thranduil takes his time breaking off the kiss with Elorean, gently sucking on her bottom lip before letting her go.

“What is it?” the King asks, still holding Elorean and staring into her eyes. 

“A band of trolls has neared the gate, My Lord! Feren’s company is on the Southern border.”

Thanduil sighs. “Assemble my company,” he orders, kissing Elorean on the forehead. 

“I will return to you as soon as I can,” he says cupping her chin in his hand.

Elorean nods, surprising him by wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her cheek against his chest.

“I hate trolls,” she mumbles.

Thranduil smiles, pulling away.

“Yes, they are foul creatures, I shall kill them all for you,” he says, raising his eyebrows at her with a smirk.

He is rewarded by a bright smile from Elorean. She would really like to go too, but she knows he will not allow it in her present condition. She had hoped the King would be here with her today. She wanted to talk to him about Illysia.

Thranduil dons his battle gear and heads out with his company. Trolls are mindless creatures, dumb and clumsy, easy enough to get rid of, even though they breed like rabbits and keep coming back. He thinks he should not be gone long. 

All he wants to do is to be with his blushing elleth, showing her how much he loves her, replacing her memories of pain with hours of pleasure. He wants to kneel at her altar and worship every inch of her body and give her everything she deserves. 

**  
Illysia has been waiting, waiting for her opportunity, waiting for the King to leave Elorean’s side. 

After thinking it through, she has reconsidered her plans. She does not want to die after all. It has occurred to her that the news Elorean is pregnant with the King’s baby is actually a gift. This is the baby she has been looking for. It will not be hard for the King to believe Elorean has run off again. Illysia has been a more of a permanent fixture in the palace than Elorean has, that elleth comes and goes like the wind.

Illysia has the help of one of the palace guards who has hopelessly fallen for her generous charms and has pledged his undying love for her. Illysia has been giving herself to him every day for weeks trying to conceive. He believes she is hopelessly devoted to him. He will do anything she asks. 

She simply needs to finalize her plans to kidnap Elorean and find a place to hold her until the baby comes. Then, Elorean can be disposed of and Illysia can present the King with his child. Madan Gwinithiel will help her, she will know where they can safely imprison Elorean, far from the King, until she brings forth the child that Illysia will claim. He will not be able to deny the child is his, it will be his.

**  
Thranduil can smell the repulsive stink of the trolls before they come upon them. They are close to the gates, too close, he will have to increase the patrols. The darkness that has infested the murky forest is rising. Orc’s are crafty, strategic and have leadership. The trolls just stumble in mindlessly, bellowing and swinging their clubs, looking for something to feed upon. They are little more than pests with no knowledge of boundaries.

They brawl loudly as the arrows strike them, lashing out and charging as if their enormous girth and blustering gives them power, but they are weak of mind and hardly worthy of the force the King has brought against them. After cutting down half of the band on his own, Thranduil regrets his decision to leave the willing arms of the elleth he longs to be with. 

It is hardly even satisfying to cut them down, it is more like target practice, something his soldiers might benefit from, but is of no value to him. Giving a command that is usually reserved for the most intense battle situations, the King watches his force mow down the trolls as he takes out the last two at once, wielding a sword in each of his hands. 

Quickly, he turns for home. The chocolate truffles he has ordered will be waiting for him to feed her when he arrives. Perhaps he will blindfold her again first…….


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to the unregistered readers who wish to comment because I appreciate your input, but I have chosen to disable anonymous comments again due to my troll who has resurfaced. It is true what they say about one bad apple.....

Thranduil is more than annoyed. He is almost to his gates when the messenger finds him. Trolls are not the only problem today. A large infestation of spiders is approaching in the southwest, more than the scouts can handle on their own.

The King reluctantly gives the order for his company to ride and meet the incoming invasion. He worries about all of the dangers that now threaten his people and he feels fiercely protective. The perils facing him seem more ominous now with Elorean expecting. The image of his pregnant Elora brings him great joy, but also summons forth reflections of his son.

He closes his eyes for a moment as they ride, sending his thoughts to Legolas, willing him to know his Father’s love is with him. He hopes that Legolas will return soon, with a mended heart.

Thranduil knows Elorean wants to speak with him and why. Illysia. He can sense her discomfort and understands she will not feel completely safe with him until the matter is settled. Elorean's pregnancy has created a connection between them, a fragile string binding them together that is new. He is able to feel her and hear her thoughts and dreams at times. He wants to make sure nothing breaks this bond.

Illysia and her baby are his responsibility, a responsibility he cannot askew. He will shield Elorean from his error as much as he can, but it is a burden he must shoulder. He could provide Illysia with a good life, far from the palace to assuage his guilt if it were not for the baby. But the child, he cannot put away from him. He is hoping that Elorean will understand and accept this and that she will come to know it does not diminish his love for her.

**

Elorean's mood drops in disappointment with the news Thranduil is not able to come back to her right away. It is not that he his pampering her, but rather that she feels safe with him. It is not a bad feeling, being with child. That it is Thranduil’s child, fills her with an enthralling sense of awe and hope.

At the same time, the changes in her body make her feel off balance, like she might just tip over sometimes. Other times, it is not so much her body, but her mind. It races with thoughts, some that elate her and some that make her cry for little reason.

It is hard to concentrate on any one thing right now and she vacillates between feeling as if she has enough energy to single handedly take out a pack of Orcs to feeling so completely exhausted, she does not even know if she can pull her boots off before she falls asleep. Thranduil is a stabilizing force for her and she feels unsteady and alone when he is gone from her.

She spends the morning with Bastian discussing plans for the baby and he takes her to the market to choose some cloth for bedding and clothing that will be needed once her infant arrives. 

“Should we get extra Bastian? The King is expecting two babies,” she says, looking down sadly.

Bastian gently takes her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “You do not need to worry about that My Lady.”

“But where will Illysia’s baby be? Will our babies stay together?”

“I think I have a very nice place for Illysia’s baby, on the settee in the King’s study.”

Elorean looks at him quizzically wondering if she has heard him correctly. It is odd, but she feels as though she will love Thranduil’s other child despite her jealous feelings towards Illysia and all of her insecurities about the King’s feelings for her. Illysia is beautiful and confident and, Elorean knows, far more experienced in the matters that will bring the King pleasure in the bedroom.

Bastian distracts her before she can say more. He has walked her to the park where children are playing while their parents wander the aisles of the outdoor market.

“Let’s rest for a moment My Lady,” he says sitting down on a bench. They watch the children romp and whirl by, entertained by their antics for some time.

“If it is a boy, I want to name him Landinir after my brother” Elorean says, having one of her emotional moments watching two boys battle with sticks, leaping over the rocks before them.

Bastian smiles warmly at her, handing her a tissue to wipe away her tears. “I think that is a wonderful way to honor his memory, and I think, judging by your size, it will be a boy.”

“Really?” Elorean asks.

“Well, I am no wizard but if I had to guess, I would say so,” Bastian says standing.

“Let's go now before you get too hungry, we are already late for lunch and the King will be cross if he returns to find you have not eaten by this hour.”

**

Illysia is wondering if it is not time to switch to another pillow. Elorean has grown thick around the waist and has a decisive, round bump. Illysia’s current cushion does not quite do her stomach justice and she wants to appear more pregnant than Elorean.

She has never considered herself a mean person. The hatred she feels towards Elorean surprises her. To be so close to having every wish and every secret desire become a reality and then to have it all dashed away, it is just too cruel a fate.

What else could she do now? Return to her life at the healing quarters? The thought leaves her feeling dark inside, as if someone has blown out her inner flame. Any good thing she has ever had in life has been like a wet leaf, clinging to her momentarily, then drying up, crumbling, and falling away like ashes.

She has visited Madam Gwinithiel and has a place now to house Elorean for the remainder of her term. It is a dark, underground cellar where she can be locked away, far from Thranduil, until the baby that Illysia will present to the King is born. Gwinithiel wants Elorean dead, to atone for the loss of her own daughter Callistia. She will help in any way she can from her prison cell, where she is slowly wasting away in darkness.

Illysia has imagined the scene many times. Thranduil perched atop his magnificent throne, draped in golden luxury, distracted and aloof, until she walks in with the infant swaddled in her arms. She can see his ice blue eyes melting and the smile that will creep across his finely chiseled face, his features softening upon seeing the child she gives to him. Then she will be Queen.

She fumes as she peeks around the corner, hearing voices, finding Bastian returning with Elorean and baby supplies from the markets. Elorean is getting the royal treatment. Nobody has taken her shopping for her baby yet. She will have to speak to the King and demand it, like she has demanded new clothing to make room for her pillow. He gives her everything she wants, looking at her with a haunted, grim expression as if she is a ghost.

The looming problem now is that Thranduil has guards assigned to Elorean, always. These are guards whom she is unable to influence. They prevent her from talking to Elorean and even to the King if he is with her. They feign complete indifference to all of her charms. To get to Elorean will require getting through the guard protecting her in the King’s absence.

She has spoken to her soldier who laughed when Illysia suggested he kill Elorean’s guard for her. “Those are the King’s soldiers, his best fighters, nobody can kill them,” he says pawing at her breasts through her silken gown. Now that she is no longer trying to get pregnant, he is growing antsy, having been accustomed to her seemingly insatiable need to mate. He has stopped using his pet name for her and no longer refers to her as his _little vixen_. Illyisa is certain of one thing, she is out of time. She has to move, quickly, before it is too late.

**

Dinner has come and gone without Thranduil and when Elorean starts to fret, Bastian reassures her that the King is fine. His skills as a warrior are unmatched by anyone in Middle Earth and while his forces may require his leadership, no harm has befallen Mirkwood’s King.

“The King is often gone far longer than this, My Lady, but he always returns alive and well, claiming victory. The King has faced far greater foes then small packs of Orc’s and nests of spiders. He has conquered dragons.”

As night falls, Elorean crawls into the Thranduil’s bed and falls asleep, placated by Bastian’s surety that Thranduil will return to her during the night and that all will be well.

As she drifts off to sleep, she feels him running a finger gently across her cheek and placing a soft kiss on her lips. His voice comes to her _Sleep myri, all is well._

It is an odd and vivid dream to have so soon after closing her eyes, she can still hear the soft breathing of the faithful guard standing outside her door and her mind has not yet floated past the delta into unawareness. Comforted by the sound of his voice, she lets herself relax and is taken by a deep, all encompassing sleep.

**

Elorean wakes to an awful smell and her eyes fly open. _I am still asleep, this is a nightmare_ , she thinks, looking into the eyes of an unfamiliar guard standing over her. She still has nightmares about that night when she was taken by Callistia’s prison guard, this is but another. But as she tries to breathe she feels the damp cloth against her face, clamped over her nose and mouth and the acid smell burns her nostrils and throat, it is like breathing fire. She gabs at his wrists and flails frantically, but he is sitting on her and has her firmly pinned to the bed.

“Easy Mamma,” he says looking a little uncomfortable, his eyes darting back and forth from her to the door.

The room starts to spin and Elorean feels dizzy. She screams Thranduil’s name in her mind. Suddenly the grip over her mouth loosens and the soldier swears, twisting his body to grab something behind him. Elorean wrestles his hand from her mouth and gasps desperately for clean air.

She hears snarling as the guard struggles to keep his hold on her while battling something behind him. Elorean catches the flash of white tipped, red tail before she hears the fabric of her assailant’s uniform rip loudly. Felix is on the bed behind him shredding his clothing and biting at his flesh as he thrashes, trying to bat at the animal away.

Elorean screams, but her voice catches in her burning throat and only a quiet, rattling noise escapes her. She struggles hard, dislodging herself out from under the weight holding her down as Felix continues his relentless attack. Rolling off the bed, her legs give way underneath her. Her head is still spinning from the fumes she has been forced to breathe. Rising to her hands and knees she begins crawling toward the door.

A loud, sharp yelp echoes in the room and Elorean hears a thud before the soldier grabs her nightshift in his fist and pulls her up to him. “Thranduil,” she screams, finally recovering her voice.

**

The King and his company are traveling under the light of the stars along the banks of the river, they are nearing home, finally. Having tracked the spiders back to a nest in a far corner of the forest, it took considerable time to ensure that they were all destroyed, along with any eggs sacks they had left behind.

Thranduil is anxious to return home, although he knows Elorean will have been at rest for some time. From a distance, he could feel her longing for him and could feel her exhaustion as he bid her a mindful goodnight, promising to be at her side when she awakes in the morning,

He is content just to lie next to her tonight and listen to the soft sounds of her breathing. He will have to wait until morning to talk with her and to gaze into the depths of her brilliant blue eyes that still undo him.

As they near the gates, Thranduil is seized by the knowledge that something is dreadfully wrong. It is as if she is reaching out for him, screaming for him, _Thranduil!_ A terrible fear grips him and he commands his horse into a full tilt run as his confused company scrambles to try to keep up with him.


	54. Chapter 54

Bastian takes the lengthy walk to the east wing of the palace to check on Illysia. She has been quiet tonight, too quiet. This does not bode well. He finds her fully dressed, carrying a bag and wearing a shawl, looking very distracted. The hour is late, she should be asleep by now, he thinks. 

“Going somewhere?” 

Illysia jumps, letting out a high pitched screech. Her eyes dart around the room, before they focus on the servant, narrowing into slits. 

**  
Thranduil storms the palace, racing to his rooms. He finds Elorean’s guard face down in the hallway at his post. A pool of liquid lies at his right hand, shards of a shattered drinking glass are scattered about. The soldier is unconscious, but alive. 

Inside the room there are signs of a struggle. The bedsheets are streaked with blood and the King’s heart slams against the wall of his chest at the sight. A whimpering fox limps toward him, dragging its hind leg, his nose trailing a path on the floor. 

Thranduil can feel Elorean, sensing her panic for the baby and then in a sudden, deadening moment of silence, he can feel her no more. His heart seizes in his chest, fear creeps up his spine and he bellows her name, the sound reaches the far corners of the palace.

**  
Elorean opens her eyes groggily as the cold wind bites at her face. As realization sets in, she begins thrashing wildly, causing the arm roped around her upper thighs to tighten painfully. She is thrown over the soldier’s shoulder, her hands bound behind her back and her feet tied at her ankles. 

Each time his foot hits the ground, she is jarred and her head bangs against his back, he is running hard. 

She screams, but a wet, rough material binds her tongue against her bottom jaw and stretches apart the edges of her mouth. The sound she makes is muffled and reverberates only inside her head. She tries to swallow the bile rising to her throat and she wills her eyes to stay open. Hot, wet tears stream down her cheeks. 

Suddenly, the movement stops and Elorean can hear sharp, breathless curses coming from the soldier. She feels dizzy as he stands in one spot, circling around twice as if he is looking for something. 

He drops her unceremoniously against a railing, the sound of rippling water laps below her. The soldier begins to shout frantically.

“Illysia!…….Illysia!!!” 

His calls are met only by the cold, calm of the empty night.

**  
Thranduil dashes back into the hallway to find Bastian marching an angry, grumbling Illysia toward him. She tries to wrench her arm free, but Bastian has her in an iron grip. 

“Where is she?” Thranduil snarls at the flailing elleth who immediately adopts an innocent posture. 

“Who, My Lord?”

Having seen enough, Bastian, wraps an arm around Illysia’s bulging abdomen. It is as he has suspected. It is not flesh he feels under the searching grip of his forearm, but downy softness. Drawing a dagger from his waist, he guts her belly as the King stares on, first in horror, then in outrage as tiny, white feathers pour forth from the slice Bastian has laid over her stomach. 

In one swift motion, the King’s sword is at Illysia’s throat. He falls upon her, prying her mouth open with his thumb. 

“Tell me where she is now or I will cut you apart piece by piece. You have only this one chance Illysia, your tongue will be the first to go!” 

Illysia’s hands grasp at the king’s wrist and her eyes fill with terror. 

“He was to meet me on the bridge with her My Lord. Spare me!” she begs her face crinkling in despair. “Spare me, My Lord!”

Thranduil motions for Illysia to be brought, dismissing her for now, as he breaks for the bridge.

**  
Elorean is frantically rubbing her bindings against the post, trying to work through them. The soldier is pacing back and forth, still screaming for Illysia. She is almost free when he grabs her, throwing her over his shoulder again. He begins to bound forward, jarring her mercilessly, knocking the wind from her lungs, bruising her ribs.

“Halt!”

A King’s command cuts through the night air, causing the soldier to stop abruptly in his tracks and spin around. 

“Let her go now and I will allow you to die quickly,” Thranduil’s voice is colder than ice and harder than steel. It is not a request.

“I will return her to you in exchange for my life.” 

Thranduil nods, descending upon the soldier.

The guard moves towards the edge of the bridge, leaning over with Elorean, threatening to throw her into the raging currents below, without saying a word.

“Put her down and you may leave without pursuit. Do it now,” Thranduil roars, closing the distance between him and the soldier. 

Realizing the futility of her situation, Illysia lets out a horrific scream, “Kill her! Kill her!”

Her soldier heeds the voice of his beloved, as if his very life depends upon it. He heaves to his side, tossing Elorean over the rail just as the King’s blade slices through his throat. Reaching up, he clutches his neck. Blood spurts from between his fingers. Dropping to his knees, he tries to utter Illysia’s name, but only a gurgle and red foam pass through his lips. 

**  
Elorean feels the water hit her body hard, like a giant hand smacking her everywhere. The current is strong and she is quickly dragged under. She cannot close her mouth. The gag swells with water as she tries to hold her breath. She is moving fast, it is almost like flying. 

A deep fuzzy feeling overcomes her and for a moment she is struck by the illusion she is actually breathing under the water and all is well. But just as her heart beats whether she tells it to or not, her lungs open to take in breath. An explosive pain fills her chest as the cool fluid invades the fragile spaces made only to take in the lightness of air.


	55. Chapter 55

Thranduil slices through the guard’s throat with stealth precision, not even watching as the blade crosses his neck. His eyes remains fixed on Elorean as every muscle in his body tightens and tenses. She is bound, she will not be able to swim. He cannot lose sight of her. 

Dropping his cape, he leaps over the edge of the bridge with surprising agility, entering the water at the exact same location where Elorean was plunged into the depths. 

He pays no mind to the cold as his body descends into the harsh bowels of the river. Pausing for a second, he allows the current to carry him so he will know what direction the water has taken her. He swims, stretching and straining with each long, powerful stroke. 

It is possible she has been towed under, that she has been brought to the bottom and has become tangled in the vegetation at the river’s floor. Or, she has been carried, hard and fast on the current and is being taken downriver where she will be smashed against the jagged rocks.

He cannot feel her, only a vague awareness of her. He pushes away all emotions, the fear, the panic, the dread. They are no longer a part of him now. This is how he fights. This is how he will find her, with cold, detached determination and brute strength. 

As he surfaces for air, he sees the fox, standing on the bank, frozen, his eyes transfixed, nose pointing forward. Thranduil pulls against the current to veer to the spot the fox is focused on, and dives. 

**  
Elorean’s eyes gaze upward, searching the murky depths for him. It is her heart’s desire, to see him above her, to have him there, pulling her and their unborn child to safety. But he is not to be found and Elorean’s heart sinks. She understands. She has known since her Father died that bad things happen and hoping for something other than what is, just causes more pain. 

She closes her eyes and her thoughts become distant, like they no longer belong to her. She is floating, floating far away from herself. The sounds of the water pulsating in her ears is gone, the sharp pain of her lungs taking in fluid is gone. 

She calls to mind an image of her King, in his golden robes, a regal crown of branches and autumn leaves lain carefully over the long, silver stands of his hair. His face is smiling at her in amusement. His sky blue eyes dance, and his deep silken voice touches her in her most secret places. She holds this memory close to her heart for comfort as she steadily drifts into the unknown realm of death. She is frightened, dying here like this all alone……

**  
Thranduil feels a swirling oscillation in the water as he moves, a fluctuation opposing the current. It is warm. He opens, allowing his emotions to flood back to him. He knows then, it is her. It is the energy he felt coming from her hands when she did healing work on him, the energy that sparks off of her when he touches her. It is weak.

His shoulder slams forcefully into a rock but he ignores the searing pain, sensing her fear, feeling her slipping away. He will not lose her.

It is the billowing white of her night shift he sees first in the dark, cloudy depths and he reaches out, grabbing onto the thin fabric of the hem, dragging himself to her. She is caught and he pulls his dagger from his waist. Her gown is torn and snagged around the spiking peak of a large rock that protrudes from the river’s bottom. He cuts her clothing from her. 

The lack of oxygen is now making him feel heady and his injured shoulder is weakening. He has to get her to the surface. He wraps her bound wrists around his neck and turns, so she is riding stomach down on his back as he surges upward. 

Breaking the surface, he goes back under twice, trying to keep her head above water. Her chest is plastered against his back and he feels no signs of her breathing. Choking up water and fighting for air, he ignores the stabbing pain her weight is causing his broken shoulder. He rails against the current, battling the indomitable forces of Mother Nature, his most worthy opponent. 

When his water logged boots finally find ground, it takes all of his remaining endurance to heave himself and Elorean to the banks of the rapidly moving river. As he drags her up the shore, he crashes to the sand, coughing up water, holding her weight on his one good arm.

Blackness takes him, although he rallies against it in his head, she is not breathing. His strength fails him as his lungs desperately expel fluids while simultaneously lurching to take in air. Thranduil collapses.

A soft, wet tongue laps frantically over his eyes, his nose, his mouth, prodding him. An emphatic yelp cuts through the night and a sharp claw rakes across his cheek. The King comes too quickly.

He lifts her arms over his neck, lying her down underneath him. Her eyes are closed and she is as still as death. Images of his Mother flash in his mind, she is burned beyond recognition. The scorching pain of dragon fire sears across his face. He can only see out of one eye as he tries to revive her, to no avail. He screams for his Father, but no help comes. His Mother slips away through his fingers, her death imprinted upon his hands.

His thoughts are interrupted by the frantic yelping of a very present fox who understands nothing but the moment at hand. The piercing sounds of barking bring Thranduil to back to the elleth beneath him and he seals his mouth over hers, tilting her head back as he begins to breath for her. Felix watches intently as the King gives her breath after breath.

**  
Elorean feels herself coming back to her body, slowly. She is being breathed. Her lungs are full, there is little room for the air being forced into her. She begins to choke violently and fluid spills from her.

She feels her body being turned over, her own strangled noises fill the night as water spurts from her mouth. Sputtering , she tries to suck in air while the suffocating wetness still rises up inside her. She chokes and gags and wretches, her entire being shakes with savage intensity.

His voice cuts through the thick muck of vomit and river water as he sits her body upright. 

“Breath with me Elora,” he says gently. “Do not breath deep.” She can feel his air in her ear as he takes a short, shallow breath. 

“Close your mouth,” he coaxes, placing his fingers lightly over her lips. “Breath through your nose myri.” Thranduil leans her body forward, resting her forearms and elbows on his thighs to open her ribcage.

“Good girl,” he says, as she takes her first, shaky breath without struggling, “Good girl.”


	56. Chapter 56

Elorean is barely cognizant of the commotion around her. She can hear his penetrating voice, beckoning to her to come back, to breathe, but she is still not certain if it is just a dream. Her lungs and throat are burning again, but now there is air. The mist clouding her mind is slowly dissipating. She is tired, so very tired.

She feels the weight of a cloak being wrapped around her before the muffled noises permeating the night start to become clear. It is voices and the sound of horse hooves beating against the ground.

“Let me take her, My Lord, you are injured.”

“No.” Thranduil adamantly refuses. He handed her over to Feren the last time she he had been taken from him, he is not about to make the same mistake again. He cannot let her go.

Feren helps Thranduil to his feet, his uninjured arm bears Elorean’s weight as he stands. He carries her to his waiting horse and mounts, grimacing slightly as he adjusts her in his lap. Despite the pain, his heart swells with gratitude as he rides for his Halls. She is alive, in his arms, and he could ask for nothing more.

**

Returning to the palace, Thranduil lets Bastian slip a night shift on the sleeping elleth before he places her gently under the covers of his bed. He kisses her softly, running his fingers through her damp hair, watching her chest rise and fall until the healer comes into the room.

“I will not wake her My Lord,” he says, placing his hand on the King’s shoulder, motioning for him to step into the hallway.

Thranduil’s guards stand at the end of the corridor holding Illysia, awaiting instruction. Her lips tremble as he approaches.

“This is your doing,” he says in a toneless voice, his face rigid and controlled. The only sign of emotion is the muscle twitching in his bottom jaw.

“Take her to the gates. Send her away from my sight! ”

“No My Lord!” Illysia falls to her knees at the King’s feet, clutching onto the hem of his tunic.

“Do not banish me! Do not make me a meal for the spiders! Please My Lord, have mercy on me!” Illyisa looks up at him, eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I only wanted to be your Queen,” she cries running her hand desperately along his thigh.

“I am afraid of the dark! I do not want to die at the hands of the Orcs! Please do not send me into exile to suffer a death so cruel,” she begs.

Thranduil reaches down, taking her face in his hands. He brushes her tears away with his thumbs.

“I will be merciful,” he says. Illysia lets out a sob of relief.

Thranduil steps behind her, softly caressing her face before tightening his grip. In one snapping motion, he twists her head violently. The sound of her neck cracking is surprisingly soft. He releases her and her body slumps to the floor as he walks away without a backward glance.

**

_The guard looms above her, holding a white cloth over her nose and it burns. His face begins to morph, his teeth turn yellow and sharp, his lips black and thin. His gray hand reaches to her breast……..She screams, thrashing, trying to break free._

"Elora…Elora…” Strong arms wrap around her in the darkness. She inhales. The scent of the woods, oak and pine envelopes her. His scent.

“It is but a bad dream myri. You are safe now. I have you.” Thranduil’s deep voice cajoles her from the hallucinations of her troubled sleep. His hand comes up to cup her chin and his fingers tenderly trace the line of her cheekbone.

“Open your eyes Elorean.” She struggles to drag herself from the nightmare, eyelids fluttering for a moment before she is able to force them open.

He is above her, silver hair falling like a curtain around her, his incandescent blue eyes watching her with concern. He brushes a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Are you okay?”

Her eyes dart around the room searching every dark corner.

“Elora, sweetheart, you are safe now.”

The face she longed to see when death was courting her under the raging river currents is here now, hovering over her like and angel. She reaches up tentatively, placing her fingers on his lips to see if he is real.

Thranduil inhales sharply at her touch and his hand comes up entwining her fingers in his. A single tear escapes the corner of her eye.

Thranduil leans in, pressing his lips against the salty droplet.

“Do not cry myri. I am here now”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she chokes.

“No.” his voice is firm, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“The baby?” she asks with a soft sob.

“The baby is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Elorean’s arms reach out to him, wrapping around his neck, and she begins to cry hard. Wiping the tears away, he kisses her chastely, but her mouth opens under his, inviting him. He stifles a groan and pulls her arms from his neck.

“Shhhhhh,” he says gently. “You need to rest myri.”

Her arms go right back up again and she holds onto him tightly, pressing her body into his. Thranduil can feel her nipples against his bare chest through the thin material of her night shift.

“Elora,” his voice is a smoky whisper.

“I thought I would never see you again,” she chokes in his ear. Her sobbing causes her breasts to rise and fall, dragging her tightening nipples across his chest. 

“I will never let you go Elorean.”

“Is he in the prison?” she asks, and Thranduil feels a shiver run through her body.

Pulling back, he looks at her, his expression malevolent. “He is dead Elora, he can never hurt you again.”

“Did he touch you?” his eyes bore into hers, searching.

“No. Is that why you don’t want me? Because you think he…”

“No Elora. Nothing could ever make me not want you. I want you more than anything. You just need to rest.”

Ignoring his admonition, Elorean pulls his face to hers, kissing him deeply, running her fingertips over his bare chest. She stops abruptly when she reaches his shoulder.

“You're hurt!” she gasps, bolting upright in the bed. Her fingers frantically assess his wound in the darkness.

“I have already been tended to Elorean. I will be fine. You need to rest. You have been through a great deal of trauma tonight,” he says, moving her hands that have already become warm with energy away, despite her struggle to keep them planted on his wound.

He kisses her softly, attempting to distract her, but her lips slide down his neck sending waves of desire coursing through him. He can feel her energy sparking through her mouth and tongue as they reach his injured shoulder and he chuckles at her determination.

“Elorean,” he growls, catching her face in his hands, but he is smiling when he looks down at her.

Elorean sighs, frustrated that he will not allow her to work on his injury. As he pulls her in to hold her, she feels his stiff hardness against her rounded belly. She lifts her head and kisses him again. Thranduil moans, dipping his tongue into her mouth. The air around them takes on a charge and he suppresses a curse, knowing he has lost to her. He can do nothing to stop this now.

Elorean’s hands splay across his back and then down to his buttocks pulling him to her. He kisses her eyes and he cheeks before moving to her ear, tracing it with his tongue, then blowing a rush of hot air on the wetness. She gasps. Reaching down, he pulls her night shift up and lifts her, bringing it over her head and tossing it to the floor. His mouth moves to her neck as his hands travel to her creamy, full breasts.

“Elora, you are so, so sweet. I want to taste all of you,” he murmurs, drawing her nipple into his lips, sucking gently. Her body quivers under his mouth and she coos, her fingers tangling in his hair.

Unhurriedly, he traces his fingers over her rounded stomach, pausing to circle her navel before spreading feather light kisses over her entire abdomen. Moving down, he places his lips on the sleek mound of flesh leading to her sex and runs his tongue along her slit.

She spreads her legs for him, groaning and arching her lower back. She is gloriously wet as he parts her. “Mmmmmmm,” Thranduil hums as he licks her from her pulsating tip to her opening, pushing his warm tongue into her slick passage.

Elora whimpers, digging her nails into his shoulders, his injury forgotten as she lifts to meet him.

“Easy,” he says, pulling her hips back down on the mattress. “I will take care of you Elora, ” he promises, slipping first one, then two fingers inside her, arcing them until they reach the spot that makes her cry out.

Gently, he begins laving her clit with his tongue, tasting and circling. Soft sighs of delight spill from her. He takes her in his mouth, drinking her in completely as his fingers nudge her pleasure point. Her body flexes and curves as she cries out so loud Thranduil half expects his guard to come rushing in. He continues to keep her in his mouth, suckling lightly now, until she is pulling her body away and unsuccessfully trying to catch her breath.

Her breathing reminds him of her near drowning and he moves up to her quickly. Sitting her upright, he strokes her hair until she is no longer grappling for air.

As he lays her back down, her hands come up to pull him to her. He is careful to balance his weight so he is not pressing too hard on her baby belly.

He is hard and throbbing when her hand reaches down and she runs her fingers along his length. Thranduil groans loudly at her touch. Her breaths are uneven again and she is whispering and murmuring softly, calling his name.

“Elora, you have no idea what you do to me,” his voice is raw and volatile.

Elorean lifts her hips and his hard cock slides over her wetness. She is eager and ready, but she moves to quickly and his crown slips down pushing hard against her damaged rosette. She lets out a painful cry.

“Okay myri, it is okay….,” he soothes, gently planting soft kisses on her face. “Be still, I will do everything. Be still.”

Lifting one of her legs, he wraps it around him and positions her lower. Her strokes her cheek tenderly. “Relax my love, I will not hurt you.”

He enters her slowly, watching her face. He smiles when her lips part and her eyes close as he fills her.

She tosses her head back and forth on the pillow, her breathing erratic and she begins to rock up to him.

“Careful angel,” he warns, locking down her hips with his.

“I can't, I can't,” she mewls in protest as he stops moving inside her. She thrashes, her eyes clamp shut and her fingers dance over his chest in a frenzy.

He catches her wrists in his hands and stretches her arms over her head. Seeing her so aroused leaves him feeling lecherous and he is on the brink of tumbling into madness and ravishing her.

He stills to calm them both. There will be plenty of time to explore every carnal desire they have after the baby is born.

“Hold onto this,” he commands, guiding her hands to a wrung at the center of the headboard. “Do not let go myrialor,” he says kissing her enticingly.

“Open your eyes Elorean,” he instructs.

She looks up at him, blinking wildly, her hips straining to rotate under him, her breath catches in her throat. Her skin is flushed and her swollen lips are slightly parted. The peaks of her voluptuous breasts are erect and dark. He stares at her, suddenly completely captivated.

His eyes rake over her indecently and he steels himself to stay in control. He takes her breast in his mouth feasting on her, nipping, tugging and elongating her nipple. Elorean wails. The sound unravels him.

“I need to have you now Elorean.” She rises to meet him the second he unlocks her hips. “Go slow,” he warns in an authoritative voice. He begins moving ever so gently inside her. Her muscles clench around him and she pants as he probes her, rotating his hips with each, long thrust.

She squirms. but obeys the silent command of his dark eyes, feeling him thicken and grow harder. The sensations intensify with every small movement he makes. A low tremor starts deep inside her and Thranduil can feel quivering in the tight muscles squeezing his cock. He smiles at her wickedly.

“Oh Elora, you are going to come so hard.”

She closes her eyes, tossing her head back, sucking in air. Thranduil reaches his hand behind her neck lifting,“No little one. Look at me,” he says hungrily, feeling the pulse surging in her jugular vein beneath his fingers.

“I want to see _this_.” His voice is tantalizing and scandalous.

He tilts, wedging into her narrow passage, pressing and rotating on her taut clit, allowing his length to go low enough to unlock and ignite her secret spot. He licks his lips as she takes her first sharp inhalation. The black centers of her vivid blue eyes grow wide as the rhythmic spasms of her deepest places quicken. She inhales again sharply, and then twice more, never exhaling as he rocks her underneath him, staring at her enthralled, smirking slightly.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs as her fraught cries begin to come in rapid succession. Slipping a hand under her bottom, he tips in her even more and her body convulses. This time her cry is a scream as he holds her there, in the perfect spot, still pleasuring her through each aftershock until she is completely extinguished.

He leans in kissing her passionately while she murmurs incoherent phrases, waiting a moment for her to recover. The heated throbbing in his groin is nearly intolerable but he cannot help but chuckle when she mumbles something about big he is.

He begins to move inside her again, no longer slow, his thrusting fast and even, but not so deep. He feels a sense of euphoria to have her safe in his bed.

Her hands and mouth move up to his shoulder. He feels her energy sinking into his wound and he knows he has lost to her again. “Ahhhhh Elora,” he moans hoarsely as her heat penetrates his injury, sending curiously erotic sparks throughout his body. His breathing is ragged and torn as she lifts her mouth from his shoulder to whisper in his ear.

“My Lord, you are going to come so hard.”

Elorean reaches down under her leg, grasping his ballocks in her electrified hand and Thranduil cries out her name, chanting it over and over again as his body is seized by powerful shock waves that pulsate through him. His juices soak her and spill down her thighs. When the last jolt has passed, Elorean brings her hand back up and continues to work on his shoulder as he tries to pull himself from his ruin.

“I suppose it is futile to order you to stop.” he says breathlessly when he can move again, placing kisses on her eyes and nose. She lets out a contented hum, making no effort to cease her administrations.

He catches her chin in his hand, bringing her eyes to his, “I love you Elorean.”

“I love you too Thranduil.”

"So you do remember my name,” he says, with an amused smile before whispering in her ear “But you can call me ‘My Lord’ in bed."

 


	57. Chapter 57

“No Elorean! It is not safe, you are almost due. I forbid it!” The threat of Orc invasion has increased, the forces of Sauron have been moving. The past few months have brought constant battles. 

The foul creature, Gollum, escaped the King’s own guard during an Orc attack. Thranduil is not about to let his very pregnant elleth wander around outside of his fortress tending to every accident prone elf in Mirkwood.

“But I will have your guard with me! It is a child Thranduil. Her arm is not healing properly. I came here to tell you I am going, not to ask for your permission!”

Thranduil is on top of her in an instant, clenching her jaw in his hand painfully.

“Do not provoke me Elorean, I am still your King! You will not leave these Halls! Do you understand me?” he growls.

Elorean feels a popping sensation deep inside her and warm gush between her legs. “Yes, My Lord.” Her words come out slightly skewed because he has her in such a tight grip. Thranduil misses the fear in her voice. 

“Good!” he says releasing her with a jerk.

Thranduil turns toward his throne, his back to Elorean as she flees. He stops for a moment to take a deep breath and cool his temper, closing his eyes. As he does, he sees an image of her face as he had her in his grasp. Something is wrong, something he saw cross her eyes.

Spinning around, he finds she has gone and he runs to the corridor. She is there, walking, but very slowly, with her hand on wall as if it is a crutch.

“Elora,” he calls out to her in a worried, regretful tone.

She stops abruptly and straightens, taking her hand from the wall. “Hîr nín, Thranduil.”

Her voice is strained and she is addressing him formally.

“Did I frighten you myri?” he asks softly, closing the distance between them. She still does not turn around to face him.

Stepping in front of her, he puts his hand under her chin, lifting her gaze to his. It is still there, in her eyes. He runs his thumb over the red imprints of his fingers on her jaw.

“Did I hurt you, Elora?” he asks in a pained voice.

“I'm fine,” she whispers softly.

Thranduil looks down at her questioningly, searching her face. 

He reaches up and caresses her cheek. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you.”

He is perplexed by her lack of response. She just stares up at him blinking.

“Elora, what is wrong?” he asks gently but urgently.

“I just need to lie down,” her voice is barely audible.

He sees her beginning to sway and quickly catches her. Lifting her in his arms he carries her to his room. She cinches his robe in her fist and her breathing is labored. As he lays her on the bed, he feels the wetness on his arm. Her face is scrunched up in a grimace and she does not let go of the hold she has on his robe.

“Elorean breathe. Breathe honey,” Thranduil coaxes. 

“I don't want to do this!” Elorean cries.

“How long ago did your water break myri?”

“When I was with you…Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

“Okay, okay, breathe sweetheart, just breathe.”

“I want my Mom!” Elorean screams as she pulls on the velvet of his robe, inadvertently drawing him closer.

“I am here for you, everything is going to be okay,” he soothes.

When the contraction passes Elorean falls back on the pillows panting.

“I am going to call for the healer,” Thranduil says prying her fingers from the fabric at his neck.

Elorean’s eyes fly open wide. “No! No! Don't leave me!”

“Shhhhhh, I am not going to leave you myrialor, I promise.”

Thranduil manages to escape Elorean’s clasp and barks orders to his guard to collect the healer and a servant.

Bastian arrives with ice chips, a basin of water and towels just as the next contraction starts. Elorean bolts upright in the bed, clutching her abdomen.

“Don't push yet Elorean,” Bastian says.

“I'm not pushing, the baby is!” Elorean screams. Bastian raises his eyebrows at the King and Thranduil responds with a sideways glance. 

Elorean is lying back on the pillows and Thranduil is dabbing her forehead with a cool washcloth when the healer arrives.

Thranduil steps away from the bed. “I frightened her and her water broke,” he says in whisper so she does not overhear him, there is a look of mortification on his face.

“It is not too soon, My Lord,” the healer says reassuringly.

“We need to get her in a gown,” he says, and Bastian quickly finds a night shift for her. Just as Thranduil and Bastian lift her to take of her tunic another contraction hits.

“Don't touch me!” she cries, batting them away. Thranduil catches one of her hands in his and lets her squeeze tightly. 

“Hold on myri, hold on. You are doing good.”

When the contraction passes, she still refuses the hands pulling at her clothes. “I can do it! Leave me alone!” she snaps.

The healer motions for Bastian and the pair leave the room. Thranduil kisses her forehead. “It is just me Elora. Let me help you.” He is relieved when she does not push him away.

He slips the night shift over her head and is surprised when she starts to get up off of the bed.

“I need to walk.”

Thranduil fights the urge to make her lie back and down and instead offers her a supportive arm.

“I will be outside should I be needed My Lord, be sure to offer her water,” the healer says peering in. Thranduil nods as he closes the door.

With Legolas, the birth had been difficult and required two healers. Thranduil worries because Elorean is very young. 

His first Queen, Areanin, was so traumatized by birth, she shunned intimacy after Legolas was born and spent her time concentrating on being a Mother. But she was much older than Elorean and was never passionate like Elorean is.

Areanin did not leave her bed during labor. She cried and moaned, but did not scream. Elorean has already screamed twice and Thranduil hopes this does not mean the birth will wrack her the way it did the Mother of his first child.

When the next contraction hits, Elorean leans over the bed, fisting the sheets, but she does not lie down. She paces like this for hours, sitting on the floor, leaning over the bed, even leaning up against Thranduil, clutching his shirt each time a contraction comes.

She has calmed since the first few, wailing through them now as he whispers sweet words of encouragement, wiping her brow and feeding her chips of ice. 

Finally, she reaches exhaustion and sits on her knees in the middle of the bed. Thranduil moves to sit behind her, straddling her with his knees and allowing her to lean back on his chest. Her hair is wet with sweat and her cheeks flushed. 

Thranduil holds her to him, supporting her weight, letting her rest in silence while waiting for the next contraction, gently stroking her face. When it comes, it is strong and Elorean shrieks.

“Good girl,” he says softly, “You are working so hard. I am so proud of you.”

Elorean screams clamping down on his hand.

“Deep breaths myri,” he says, “Keep going.”

Elorean rises up on her knees and turns to him,

“Help me!,” she sobs falling on his chest “I want to go home!”

“I know honey. You are so strong. You are going to be a great Mother,“ he says holding her up.

“Open your eyes Elora.” He is overwhelmed for a moment by her beauty as the pain plays across her face, her eyes filled with tears. She looks like a Goddess to him as she births his child. He is awestruck.

Remembering his duties, he reaches up to cup her cheek in his palm. “Just a bit more darling, we are almost there.” 

Her contractions are coming in quick succession now and as he places his hands on her enormously round stomach. “I love you Elora. We are going to push now."

Elorean nods at him through the pain and he lifts her, laying her back against the pillows.


	58. Chapter 58

Thranduil removes the sheet from the bed and rolls it into a rope, securing it on the footboard. 

“Hold on to these myri,” he says, handing her the two ends and kissing her lightly.

Spreading her legs, he lifts her gown, taking one of her knees under his elbow. Elorean whimpers as the next contraction starts.

“Okay, here we go,“ he says, propping her leg up.

Elorean clutches the sheet, pulling it while she pushes until her knuckles turn white.

“I can't do this she cries,” after it passes.

Thranduil smiles and wipes her brow with a cold cloth. “You are doing it. You are remarkable Elora. Just a bit more to go.”

This time, when Thranduil lifts her leg during the contraction, he can see the top of the baby’s head.

“Push myri. Push deep.”

Elorean closes her eyes tightly. Thranduil sounds far away. Everything sounds far away. Then he is there, very close, his lips brushing hers. 

“Breathe, Elora.”

She takes one more deep breath and her entire body contracts so powerfully, she cannot make a sound. There is a long pause before she opens her eyes.

Thranduil is kneeling in front of her, holding their baby. Tiny fingers lift toward his face.

“It is a boy Elora,” he says, smiling proudly, tears streaming down his face. He hands the baby to her, kissing her cheek. As soon as the baby is in her arms, Elorean begins to cry.

“Oh, he looks just like you!” she says, running a delicate finger over his brows.

Thranduil laughs and sits next to her, holding her and the child. After a few moments, he pulls out his dagger, cutting the cord, watching Elorean and the baby with wonder. 

Suddenly, Eloreans’s body jerks and she cries out.

“Elorean?” She does not answer. 

Thranduil takes the baby from her as she doubles over.

“Hold on honey,” he says as he races to the hallway for the healer, handing the baby to Bastian.

Thranduil is seized by a fear he has harbored through Elorean’s entire pregnancy. She has been through so much. Her body was weakened, she was injured, and she nearly starved. Although she has been well cared for through the second half of her term, he has not forgotten what the first half was like for her. She is so young, maybe too young to have gone through all of this.

The pain in his heart is searing, if something happens to her now he will never forgive himself. The thought of raising their child without her, of life without her is so clouded and bleak it is unbearable to imagine. 

In the few moments they have had since their son has been born, he has allowed himself to finally believe that everything will be okay, that they will be together. The joy in his heart for this brief span of time has been the greatest joy he has ever known, looking to the future with his beloved Queen, and their son. Now it is all being ripped away as Elorean writhes and moans on the bed.

He holds her hand whispering reassuring words to her as the healer examines her. Her pain tears at him. When the healer first speaks, Thranduil is confused by his words.

“Hold her leg up, My Lord,” Thranduil blinks and stares as the healer lifts Elorean’s knee and motions for the King to take it.

“Push, My Lady, push,” the healer says kindly, but firmly.

Elorean brings the upper half of her body off the bed and screams as she bears down.

“Again,” the healer instructs.

Thranduil stares mouth agape as another tiny head slips from Elorean’s body.

“Once more for the shoulders. One more hard push!”

Elorean grips onto Thranduil’s hand squeezing so hard his rings dig into his fingers drawing blood, but he does not even flinch.

With one loud moan, she pushes again and the sound of wailing baby fills the room.

“It is a girl!” the healer declares triumphantly.

Thranduil lets out something that sounds like a sob as he takes the baby, kissing her tiny forehead, before placing her on Elorean’s chest. 

**  
It takes only seconds for Elorean to collapse into a slumber. Bastian has the twins bundled in swaddled in no time and Thranduil cradles one in each arm, walking the floor with them, allowing their sleepy Mother to get a moments rest. 

The twins are content to stare up at their Father for some time before Landinir begins to fuss. Elorean awakens at his first cry despite her exhaustion, her Mother Instincts in full gear. 

“Are you in pain?” Thranduil asks concerned.

“Not much,” Elorean answers, holding her arms out for her son.

Thranduil is relieved when she puts the baby to her breast and he latches on with little effort. Legolas’ Mother required a wet nurse. His breath catches in his throat watching her. Her eyes are sleepy, her tousled hair falls free of braids to her waist. A slight look of relief passes over her features as the baby drinks from her engorged breast. She is stunningly gorgeous and Thranduil feels a stirring in his groin.

She glances up at him and he tries to disguise his heated stare but she blushes, eyes lingering on the bulge in his pants. 

When Landinir’s tiny rosebud mouth relaxes and his little eyes close in sleep, Thranduil takes him and places the girl in her Mother’s arms. He puts his sleeping son down in the bassinet by the bed. When he turns back around, their daughter is drinking from Elorean’s other breast contentedly.

“We must give her a name,” Thranduil says sitting on the bed next to her. 

“What name do you like?”

“Astaria,” my little star.

“Astaria is asleep already Ada.”

“So she is.”

Thranduil takes his sleeping daughter and places her in the bassinet next to her brother.

He slips back into the bed with Elorean, embracing her.

Elorean’s hand runs up his thigh and over his manhood that quickly rises to her touch.

“Would you like me to take care of this for you My Lord?” she asks, moving her head down beneath the sheets.


	59. Epilogue

“Ada! Ada!” Landinir shouts. “Star is climbing the wall again!”

“You are just like you Mother!” Thranduil growls playfully as he pulls his giggling daughter from the wall.

“Mommy says I'm a good climber,” Astaria says, beaming up at her Father with a toothy smile.

“Yes, yes you are,” he says bopping his finger on the tip of her nose.

**  
Tauriel stops in stunned silence, staring.

“Tauriel.” Legolas gives her a curt nod, his eyes drilling into her.

Her gaze drops to her feet.

“My Lord.”

A disappointed look crosses Legolas’ face when she pins her eyes to the floor as he passes her. He had hoped for something more.

He sighs deeply. Having been gone for many seasons, he is surprised to find all of the feelings he had for her, feelings he ran from, are all still with him, that they brew just beneath the surface. Most surprising is that the pain remains so sharp. The passage of time and the separation has not dulled his desire for her in the least. 

“Legolas.”

Her voice holds a hint of desperation as it penetrates his thoughts and he turns to her. She stands in front of him, proud and strong, but her eyes are wet and her breaths shallow. Now that the look of shock has left her face a myriad of emotions play across her countenance. 

Legolas feels his impassive facade beginning to crumble. Like his Father, his passion runs deep despite his stony demeanor. It is a necessity to live behind a fortress when you are royalty, the son of the greatest warrior in middle earth. Emotions are a weakness that can be easily exploited. He must, above all else, always be in command of himself. This his Father has taught him well. 

Perhaps that is why he has always been so attracted to Tauriel with her flaming red hair and fiery temper. She is a tempest, wild and impulsive. The mere thought of her makes him feel as though he has lost all control and that feeling thrills him.

His Father admired her passionate traits as well, showing her his favor, tapping into this potential to make her into a great warrior. Legolas is relieved to see that Thranduil has cared for her during his absence. Her uniform indicates she still holds the position of Captain and her confidence is intact. Thranduil did not break her, although he would have been well within his right to do so after she so openly challenged her King. Legolas feels a swell of gratitude toward his Father.

His Father. Feren met Legolas at the gate, excited and thrilled to find the Price returning to Thranduil’s realm. The guard told him that much has happened in his absence. The King has taken a new Queen, Landinir’s little sister. 

This in of itself is somewhat shocking to the Prince, Landinir’s sister is younger than him. He has two new siblings as well, twins, a brother and a sister. Legolas can barely comprehend what changes must have occurred in his Father to bring about such unexpected events. He has never seen his the King look at an elleth with more than passive indifference. 

He stares at Tauriel, waiting, not knowing what to say. She says nothing, she simply stares back at him, lips slightly parted, tears streaming down her cheeks. The sight of her crying knots him up inside and he walks to her slowly.

He lifts his hand, lightly brushing her cheek, wiping her tears away with his thumb. He stands stiff when she suddenly wraps her arms around his neck, letting out a gentle sob and pushing her body up against his. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her waist. 

When she pulls back, Tauriel takes his face in her hands. Her eyes are bright and wet. She leans in and kisses him lightly at first but when his lips part, her kiss becomes more insistent and her hands move to stroke his shoulders. She takes his bottom lip into her mouth sucking gently and Legolas’ inhibitions falter. A deep groan vibrates through his chest.

Aware that they are standing in a very public hallway, Legolas grabs Tauriel’s arm, and pulls her through a doorway, closing and locking it behind him. He takes a step toward her but she backs away and his heart falls.

“Your Father, he will not allow it. He told me so,” Tauriel says her face falling in despair.

Legolas cocks his head slightly “When?”

“Long ago Legolas. Before…..before Kili,” she says looking down and wringing her hands. 

“Let me worry about my Father Tauriel,” he says, lifting her chin. Though her eyes still look unsure, he pushes her back against the wall and this time, it is he who kisses her.

Tauriel gasps. Gone is the Prince’s carefully guarded composure. His mouth is hot and wet and she feels a burning sensation deep inside her. His hips press into hers and she can feel him, hard as stone against her stomach. 

He pulls away to look into her eyes as his hand cups her breast. Her mouth opens into an astonished 0 at the sensation. 

“Tauriel,” it is more like he is breathing her name then saying it. “I have looked to the stars every night and wondered if you were looking upon them too. Not an hour has passed that I have not thought of you.” 

Tauriel feels a gush of heat between her legs. She has never known Legolas to speak this way, he is always so controlled, so disciplined. 

Her breathing is short and fast now and she feels an ache growing deep inside her. Legolas mistakes her wide eyes and flushed face for something else and she is disappointed when he releases her.

“I am… sorry, he says turning away.”

Tauriel lets out a short sob and he turns to her.

“I am not a toy Legolas, a plaything for you to fondle and discard at will,” she snaps. With him, she is never sure. There were moments when she thought he desired her, when she hoped, but he always turned cold and looked upon her with disdain afterward as if he hated himself for seeing her that way. If he really cared for her, he has kept it a carefully guarded secret.

“You have played with my heart for too many years! I will leave Mirkwood in the morning,” she says, her sure feet gliding to the door. Legolas catches her by the elbow. His voice is almost…angry.

“What are you talking about?”

“You are sorry you kissed me. I am sorry I let you!” she yells, jerking her arm away. Legolas’ nostrils flare and his eyes go wide.

“I am sorry I have cared for you, that I have hoped you would return!” she shouts at him, tears streaming down her face.

“But Kili…” Legolas says, his voice softer now.

“I loved you first Legolas. Your Father told me I could not have you, for I am but a lowly Sylvan elf, not good enough for the Prince of Mirkwood. Apparently you share his opinion!”

Legolas curses under his breath. She tries to leave but he grabs her again, tightening his grip on her arm.

“Tauriel!” he says it as a command and she straitens her body automatically and meets his eye as if she is awaiting his orders. Good, he thinks, now I have her attention.

“There has been no other for me Tauriel. You are all I have ever wanted. I do not care what my Father says. I do not care about your time with the Dwarf.”

Tauriel blinks, her eyes growing wet again. “Then take me Legolas, please.” She steps toward him and he opens his arms to her, drawing her too him, kissing her with abandon. 

“Would you like to go somewhere else Tauriel?” he asks, worried about her comfort, there is not so much as a table in the room. 

“No, My Lord, I want you now.” She says her mouth finding his again. His hands run through her long tresses and down to her lower back, gently drawing circles before dropping to her buttocks and squeezing gently.

Tauriel feels a sense of urgency, a need to couple with him before someone comes crashing through the door to take him from her.

“It has been so long,” she groans. Legolas misunderstands, thinking she has not mated since her Dwarf died, but he does not care. He does not require purity in blood or in body as his Father. He simply requires the spirited, red haired warrior beneath his hands who is unfastening his belt.

Her intensity spurs him on and, surprisingly, he has her undressed first. He plumps her breasts, grazing her nipples with his fingertips, gently pinching and rolling. The sounds that escape her make him burn as he has never burned before.

She claws at his shoulders and rakes her fingers through his scalp gently pulling his long silver hair. He slips his tongue through her lips and she meets it with hers and they flicker together before delving into deeper secrets. 

His hand travels over her hips, following the gentle curve before tracing her navel and dropping to the apex between her thighs. She sucks in air as his fingers brush over her seam. 

He splits her open and her warm wetness is proof that she desires him. Running his finger over her, he collects her moisture before taking her hardened pearl between his fingertips coaxing and massaging until she is panting and clutching onto him. Tauriel lets out a sharp mewl as he pushes her back against the wall, drawing one of her legs up to allow him full access to her burning sex. 

He traces the she shell of her ear with his tongue and she explodes with a wail in his fingers. A small gush of thick liquid pumps from her as he lightens his hold on her quivering clit. He smooth’s and spreads her cream over her and into her, making her ready to take him but then stops short.

“Tauriel, you are a virgin,” he says is a raspy voice, the surprise in his voice evident. 

“Yes My lord,” she says breathlessly.

“But Kili?” he asks.

“We never…. he never even kissed me,” she whispers still coming down from her orgasm.

“Your first time should not be here, like this,” he says meeting her eyes and softly stroking her cheek.

“Please Legolas. Please. Do not turn away from me now,” she begs and as he stares down at her, he knows that he does not want to take the chance of losing her again. She is here, in front of him, open and willing and all that is left for him to do is take her. He drags his fingers over her lips and his thumb slips into her mouth. She closes around it sucking and he groans loudly. 

He reaches down grabbing her buttocks and lifts her so that she is straddling him and he leans her back against the wall for leverage. He is hard and stiff and his staff slides over her finding her opening easily. He lightly pushes into her, his eyes fixed on hers, watching for distress. When he sees it, he starts to back off but she kisses him, “No, Legolas, don’t stop.”

He knows her strength and courage. She is a warrior, and so with a slight grimace he plunges into her, swallowing her short outcry in a passionate kiss that pulls her attention from her pain back to him.

“Tauriel,” he murmurs in her ear. The sensation of being buried inside her causes him to shudder. 

“Tell me this is real Legolas,” she says tears streaming down her cheeks.

“It is real Tauriel. I love you. I have always loved you,” he says, the hue of his icy blue eyes turning warm like a summer sky. 

“I love you too Legolas,” she says shifting her hips upward to take him in deeper. He moves in her gently at first, her soft coos and murmurings filling him with a delicious sweetness as he pinches and tugs at her erect nipples, his tongue dancing with hers. 

“Oh, My Lord! My Lord!” she cries out, her voice filled with dismay as she braces herself with one hand on his chest and one on the wall. The sound she makes as she comes unravels him. Legolas sheaths himself inside her, twitching before he rides her hard. A glorious roar of rapture pours from him as he is overtaken by churning waves of gratification. He releases like a fountain, spurting again and again inside her. 

He gently lets her legs down, one at a time, holding her as she finds her balance. Hearing voices in the hall, they smile and kiss each other quickly before picking up their discarded clothing. 

Legolas stops as he bends down to retrieve her leggings, seeing the thin ribbons of blood mixed with clumps of his thick come dripping down her legs. Finding his trousers, he pulls a handkerchief from the pocket and carefully wipes her pale white thighs, placing a kiss at the soft mound between.

“Are you okay?” he asks kneeling in front of her, his eyes looking up to find hers.

“Never better My Lord,” she says grinning. She is rewarded by a beautiful, youthful smile from her Prince and they share a comforting embrace before hastily donning their clothing. 

“I must deal with my Father now,” he says, tipping her chin up and kissing her deeply.

“I will go with you,” she says protectively.

“No Tauriel,” he says taking her hand in his. “This is between the King and I.”  
**  
Elorean is returning to the palace late, well after breakfast. Thranduil has taken the twins outside for the morning to play. She usually does this but Thranduil likes to take over the duty a couple days of the week and she was needed at the healing quarters that are now under her management. She is distracted, thinking about upgrading the pharmacy when she senses a presence in front of her.

Looking up she stares into glacial blue eyes, eyes she knows well but does not. Legolas. She resists the urge to embrace him. The King rarely speaks of him, but she knows just how much the he longs for his first son. She knows the depths of Thranduil’s love for the Prince.

‘My Lord Legolas,” she says bowing her head.

He stares at her unsure and simply nods. 

“Does he know you are here?” she asks hopefully.

“No,” he says looking down. 

Tears well up in Elorean’s eyes. “He will be so very glad to see you Legolas.”

The Prince’s eyes glow with hope at her words.

The sound of giggling children fills the hall and Elorean turns to find Thranduil holding Astaria on one hip, his other hand grasping Landinir’s. He has stopped and is standing frozen staring at his son. Elorean rushes to take the twins, leaving Thranduil and Legolas alone in the corridor.

**  
The Kings eyes grow wet and his face exposes his unspoken anguish.

“Legolas,” he breathes in a raspy voice.

Legolas nods curtly.

Not wishing to spar with his Father, he looks up with resolve.

“I have come for Tauriel. We will go to Rivendell.”

Thranduil nods, crestfallen. “As you wish.”

Legolas turns on his heel, disappointment marring his features.

“Legolas.” Thranduil’s voice cuts through the sound of his son’s footsteps against the stone floor.

“Please consider staying here.”

Legolas meets his Father’s eyes with trepidation, saying nothing.

“Stay Legolas. This is your home.”

“Tauriel?”

“You and Tauriel, together” the King responds holding his hand to his heart and extending it to his son before opening his arms.

Legolas bounds across the floor, closing the distance between them and the King and the Price fall into a tearful embrace.

**  
Elorean and Thranduil watch as Legolas stands next to Landinir, teaching him the archer’s stance, before helping him draw back his bow. Tauriel and Astaria are fencing down by the barns, leaping over the bales of hay.

Thranduil stands behind Elorean, wrapping his arms around her waist. He feels her quiver slightly under his touch.

“Come with me darling and I will give you what you want,” his whispers huskily in her ear.

“But the children…,” she objects.

Let their brother watch them he says, pushing his hardness against her back.

She turns to him and he kisses her deeply.

Legolas and Thranduil meet eyes for a moment and Legolas smiles broadly, laughing at his Father and nodding. Thranduil gives him a slight bow of his head in gratitude before whisking his Queen off to his chambers for a rare morning treat.

**Author's Note:**

> Paragraphs are intentionally short to facilitate smaller screen reading.


End file.
